


The Bad Boy from Hell’s Golden Gates

by thestoryarchive



Category: Miraculous Ladybug
Genre: Abuse, Adrien Agreste/Marinette Dupain-Cheng Fluff, Aged-Up Character(s), Alcohol, Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - No Powers, Angst, Arranged Marriage, Bad Boy Adrien Agreste | Chat Noir, Bad Parent Gabriel Agreste, Complicated Relationships, Confused Marinette Dupain-Cheng, Cute, Drunk Adrien Agreste | Chat Noir, Emotional, Engagement, F/M, Falling In Love, Flirting, Fluff, Fluff and Angst, Gabriel is cruel but what's new, Hot Mess Adrien Agreste, Jealous Adrien Agreste, Jealousy, Kissing, Love Confessions, Mutual Pining, Reverse Crush (Miraculous Ladybug), Romance, Secret Crush, Suggestive Themes, They've never met, True Love, Violence, a rollercoaster of emotions I'm sorry, adrienette - Freeform, father/son violence
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-05-31
Updated: 2020-10-11
Packaged: 2021-03-03 03:54:34
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 9
Words: 22,416
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24464533
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thestoryarchive/pseuds/thestoryarchive
Summary: Adrien Agreste is a wealthy, reckless bad boy.Marinette Dupain-Cheng is a part-time waitress struggling to make ends meet.One night, at a charity event, their worlds – and hearts – collide.AU where Adrien is twenty two, Marinette is twenty one, and they are meeting for the first time.
Relationships: Adrien Agreste and Marinette Dupain-Cheng, Adrien Agreste | Chat Noir & Chloé Bourgeois, Adrien Agreste | Chat Noir/Marinette Dupain-Cheng | Ladybug, Alya Césaire & Nino Lahiffe, Luka Couffaine & Marinette Dupain-Cheng | Ladybug
Comments: 103
Kudos: 243





	1. Gold Liquor

He could not deny it even if he had wanted to. This party, for lack of a better word, _sucked._

The young man held the crystal glass to his lips, swigging the golden liquor that swished clockwise in its glossy enclosure. The sharp taste stung his tongue, warmth extending down his throat. The burning sensation dulled his senses and for that, he was grateful. Charity events such as these never benefited him personally, however he knew how much his father relished in showcasing his wealth to others.

 _Some things never change,_ he noted acrimoniously, surveying the room.

Crystal chandeliers hung low, casting brilliant fragments of light throughout the venue. Pearl draping and chiffon clouded the ceiling, intricately woven together in a flurry of fabric. As a child, he had mistaken the cloth for clouds, hoping to be swept away in each fluffy silhouette. Much like the fantasy of Peter Pan, he had wished to be carried to a far-off land, full of joyful, independent children and a lack of responsibility.

Buffet tables boasted expense; variants of hors d’oeuvre; canapés, amuse-bouche, caviar, cheese platters, lobster appetisers. His father had even splurged on the attire of the event workers; each employee’s uniform was designed with black satin that shifted luxuriously under the lighting, each sleeve adorned with gilded cuff-links initialised with “GA”, which matched the hand-made embroidery laced on each breast pocket, “Gabriel Agreste Designs”. 

“Adrikins!” _Ugh._ Her shrill voice tore through him, akin to nails on chalkboard. He hastily refrained from clenching his teeth and rolling his eyes skyward. The platinum blonde launched her toned body at him, swinging around his broad shoulders.

“Chloé,” he greeted unhappily. How did she manage to be so _aggravating?_ If it were a competition, Chloé would have bagged the prize long ago, reigning supreme.

“Did you miss me? I missed you!” She had just returned from her trip abroad. _It was not long enough,_ Adrien sneered. _How could I miss you? You pestered me with an insane number of voicemails and text messages. If I did not have to deal with you, I would have reported you to the police for harassment and filed a restraining order._

“How was your stint overseas? Enjoyable, I hope?” he forced a polite smile, purposely avoiding her question. _No point giving her false hope and encouraging this preposterous behaviour. If my lack of an interest is not enough, she will never relent._

“I couldn’t enjoy it, I missed you too much,” Chloé pouted, batting her fake, spidery eyelashes in what she presumed was an adorable expression. Adrien could assure her it was not.

An employee walked past, carrying an overloaded tray of champagne. Adrien swiped a flute from the harvest and chugged it at an alarming rate. The waitress gaped at him with the deepest bluebell irises he had ever seen, a hint of violet overshadowing the bold colour. He almost spat the fizzing liquid out. Adrien frantically attempted to compose himself as he unabashedly gawped at the beautiful young woman before him.

Her pale complexion was smooth and flawless, dotted with a constellation of faint freckles on the bridge of her nose. Rose-tinted lips emphasised their plumpness, demanding to be noticed. Her dark raven hair was wrapped expertly in a tightly groomed bun, her fringe sweeping across her small forehead as loose tendrils framed her divine face. _The God’s must have taken their sweet time to carve you._

Why on earth was she catering for his father? She deserved to be modelling the designs.

“T-thank you,” he stammered, tongue tied as he set the empty glass back on the tray with a delicacy unbeknownst to him before this precise moment. She froze for a moment, measuring her words, calculating his character with an intense gaze, before swiftly abandoning her speech and moving on to the next guest. Mentally, he smacked himself for acting so pathetic and not having the wit to read her name tag. But _damn it_ if her ass didn’t look magnificent in those satin trousers.

“I _would_ have brought you a gift back, but I had over-packed-“ Chloé continued to ramble in the background as his line of sight followed the petite girl through the crowd. Her smile was dazzling as she graciously interacted with the remaining invitees. Her lithe body expertly weaved between each guest, a tinkle of airy laughter floating behind her.

Adrien’s mind clouded with fog under the influence of alcohol. He could practically feel the absorption of whiskey into his bloodstream. _I need to find out her name._ He stepped forward with purpose, interrupting Chloé’s oxygen-robbing rant.

“Adrikins?”

One foot dragged itself before the other, spurring his body to move forward. Wobbling legs carried him towards his desired destination as he brushed past vaguely familiar attendees. It was a welcome sight to see Chloé’s parents, André and Audrey Bourgeois, acting courteously towards one another, even if only a façade for the event. Théo Barbot appeared dashing in a “Gabriel Agreste Designs” tuxedo as he spoke animatedly to a captured audience regarding his latest project. Which, of course, was a collaboration with daddy dearest. _He doesn’t look half bad dressed as a sell-out. Decent, almost._

He stumbled, teetering sideways. Firm hands gripped his shoulders to steady his wavering figure; muscles rippling beneath dark skin. “Woah, woah, easy there.” The voice sounded youthful and full of mirth. It reminded him of bright summer nights, camaraderie, and soulful music.

Through the haze, Adrien blinked slowly to register his surroundings. She was racing out of sight.

“I need to-” his chest constricted, causing him to gasp for air. He felt like he was being choked, strangled. An unsteady hand gripped the silk bow tie that hung around his neck like a noose, struggling with it to be free.

“Let me.” The young man holding Adrien upright offered a hand, successfully loosening the restrictive garment. It lay limply around his neck, the ends resting on his clavicle.

“Thank you,” he breathed, patting his rescuer on the shoulder.

“Any time. If you need me again, I’ll be right over here. You can’t miss me, I’m the one surrounded by electrical equipment.” His chuckle filled the space between them, expanding like a bubble until its eventual pop. 

Adrien refrained from laughing. Not because his peer lacked comedic value, but rather his fear of vomiting. “I won’t make the same mistake twice,” he slurred, pointing haphazardly at the impressive speakers. “What do they call you?”

“Me?” another bout of jocularity. “They call me Nino.”

“Nino,” Adrien mangled the word in his mouth. “I don’t know if I’ll remember that.”

“Here’s my card. Your old man hired me, of course, but if you ever need a pal to drink with, you can count on me.” Nino slipped the piece of cardboard into Adrien’s fingers. He turned it over once, twice. He wasn’t sure what it was made of, but he was impressed with the quality. It was coated with a buttery finish, soft to the touch. _Very official._

“I might just take you up on that.” Adrien smirked mischievously, pocketing the card. He patted his chest like a war drum to secure it in the depths of his suit.

In a bout of renewed energy, he pounced towards intricately carved doors, searching for her. He felt a flicker of excitement, like a match being struck. He was the hunter – powerful, graceful (well, as graceful as one could be while inebriated), determined. She was the prey – petite, nimble, elusive. His drunken pace quickened. He burst forth into the adjoining room, hoping to find her standing there, alone, waiting. Waiting for him to find her. To catch her.

To his utter disappointment, she was nowhere to be seen. He sighed ruefully, collapsing onto the bench of a hidden alcove carved expertly into the wall. The crisp night air infiltrated through the tall Venetian windows, stirring the sheer curtains from their eternal slumber, casting a deep shadow as they danced. He closed his eyes briefly, imagining a younger version of himself doing as he was now. Not chasing after a girl, he snickered darkly, but hiding from view. Often, he would seek similar hiding spots, curling like a small kitten into a confined space as time ticked by, hoping for these extravagant events to end. He could feel the nervousness prick his skin like tiny needles, even as he sat in the cubby-hole of his choosing, at twenty-two years of age. He shivered unpleasantly at the memory.

A door creaked open, jutting him from his reverie. Light footsteps approached, the familiar clink of a glass bumping against another, the metallic grind of crystal skating along a tin surface. A quiet, levelled sigh. The breeze picked up, revealing his silhouette. The pale fabric reached out, as if inviting the stranger to look at their captive.

“Oh, my-“ a clatter. The explosive shattering of glass. The never-ending chant of metal spinning on polished mahogany floor. A tsk.

“Found you.” He could not suppress the Cheshire grin. Not, until, he noticed the trickle of crimson flowing from her wrist. He knelt beside her, ignoring the detritus surrounding them. Gently, he took her wrist into his hands, tugging the unfastened bow tie from his neck. With deft and expert hands, he wrapped the black fabric around the small seeping gash, tying a neat bow atop. Aside from it being a bandage, it almost looked like an accessory.

“Thank you,” she whispered, barely audible. Sapphire with flecks of amethyst met with emerald. Her earnest expression turned scornful with a shake of her head. “You shouldn’t sneak up on people.”

“Sneak?” a hearty laugh erupted from his chest, surprising both of them. “I was blissfully at peace before your rowdy entrance.”

She had the decency, at least, to appear embarrassed. “I apologise for startling you, Mr…?” He realised she was asking for him to fill in the gap.

His toothy grin extended. “Agreste.”

“A-Agreste?!” Her blush deepened, the shade flittering from carnation pink to carnelian red. Both colours suited her well.

“The younger, more handsome, offspring.” He placed a hand over his chest, bending in a courteous bow. In a quick action of cheek, he raised her thinly veiled, bandaged hand to his lips, peppering it with a chaste kiss. Her gasp of astonishment sent a chill of pleasure racing down his spine. Sea green eyes glowed in the on-setting dusk, trouble gleaming through the darkness. She retracted her hand gingerly. His eyes traced the name tag pinned to her breast pocket. _Marinette._

“I am so sorry, Sir. I will clean this up right away.” The young woman’s demeanour changed instantaneously. Her scolding, somewhat playful attitude had soured due to the realisation of his wealth. The stiffness in her posture reminded him of a springboard.

“I’m not my father.” Adrien felt the need to clarify this fact, albeit bitterly. He loathed how he was treated due to his father’s name, company, and fortune. Gabriel Agreste was world-renowned for his impeccable fashion line. Yet to Adrien, he was infamous for very different reasons. His father could certainly design beautiful clothing, just not a beautiful life.

He stood awkwardly, feeling the palpable shift of emotion in the vast room. He cleared his throat – a low, guttural sound. “You don’t need to put on airs with me. Some respect, sure, but don’t treat me like an old geezer.”

“I didn’t mean to offend you, Si- uh, Mr Agreste.” Marinette seemed to fumble with the words in her mouth, rolling each letter like a washing machine. She shifted uncomfortably.

“Adrien,” he corrected, loosening the second button on his shirt. A twinge of smugness swelled in his chest as he caught her eyes drifting to the skin beneath his collarbone. He certainly appreciated the ego boost. “Like what you see?”

She recoiled at his teasing tone, the tips of her ears scarlet. “I-I wasn’t looking!”

“I would try to believe you, if you were not so obviously flustered by my handsome good looks.” He winked good-humouredly, wiggling his eyebrows.

A chuckle escaped from her rose-tinted lips as she rolled her eyes towards the scalloped ceiling. “I should have known you’d be a tease.”

“That means it’s working.”

She wagged a finger at him as if chiding a child. “Charms and good looks can only get you so far.”

“They’ve got me this far. In this room, with a beautiful woman. I’d call that a success.” Adrien risked a step closer, glass crunching beneath leather brogues. Her parted lips betrayed a quickening of breath at his proximity, her chest rising and falling at a rapid pace. He could feel the wave of heat coursing through her body as her blush extended, coating her slender neck.

A sharp inhalation of breath, not from either of them, permeated the four walls. Marinette sprang back as if scalded by hot water, looking sheepish. Adrien sighed exasperatedly, annoyed with the interruption. He fixed a pointed stare at the intruder, making it clear that they had disturbed a private moment.

“S-so sorry!” A high-pitched squeak echoed, reaching the young adults.

“It’s fine!” Marinette yelped, the spell now broken as she sprung into an over-animated display of action. He bit his lip to prevent the bubble of laughter threatening to erupt. If this was her attempt at normalcy, she was doing a poor job.

“I have to go,” she stated the obvious over her shoulder as she followed the second waitress from the room, practically pushing the younger employee through the door. Adrien suppressed a snort. It wasn’t a crime scene she was covering up, so why was she acting like it was?

In a final attempt to leave a good, lasting, impression, he waved farewell. “Goodbye, Marinette. I hope to see you soon." He winked in her direction.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope you enjoyed the first chapter!


	2. Vanilla Syrup

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I present the second chapter of me towing the line between writing something cringey or acceptable.

A pendulum of pain swinging back and forth; relentless. The dull throbbing increased in frequency, a tidal wave of nausea in pursuit. A groggy awakening roused him from slumber. His eyes opened slowly. Dazzling light streamed through the windows, piercing his vision. In a disoriented haze, Adrien’s body, as if controlled by string, pulled him forward into a sitting position. He groaned in disgust. In the same position as the night before, Adrien uttered the one vow he knew he could never keep:

“I will never drink again.”

His mind buzzed with electricity. Adrien rolled his tongue, feeling the perimeter of his mouth. He could practically feel each individual grain of sand coating his tongue. He coughed – once, twice – to dislodge the uncomfortable feeling. His throat was dry with an unquenchable thirst as he manifested saliva to satisfy the need. It was not enough. He doubted an ocean full of water could quench it.

The acrid stench of stale spirits overwhelmed the monochromatic bedroom, lingering on his skin. Each pore produced a mixture of pungent chemicals and sweat. He needed to shower. _Desperately._ With a heavy thud, his feet graced the concrete floor. On slow commands, each appendage encouraged him to stand. He wobbled, at risk of collapsing onto the mattress as another tsunami of biliousness overcame him. Intense gagging. Crippling over to protect the vulnerable pouch that his stomach had become. Bleary eyes scrunched shut.

 _Just let it pass._ _Focus on something else, anything else._

Cobalt blue tinged with mauve. Plump, thulian pink lips beneath an angled cupid’s bow.

_A moment more. Retreat, retreat._

He inhaled deeply, forcing the bile down his oesophagus. Two more minutes passed before he felt capable of reaching the ensuite. Fumbling for the dial, the water gushed from the shower head. Adrien waited impatiently for the water to warm and then discarded his remaining garments.

Droplets rained from above, soothing his exhausted limbs. The heat seeped into his skin, diving beneath each individual pore. It was like consuming a comforting soup that someone who cared for you made when you were sick. _Tomato Bisque._ Saliva poured into his mouth at the memory. The sensation swirled throughout his body, hugging his bones. He tilted his head back, trying to cleanse his mind. He couldn’t stop the train of thought that rushed towards him, as much as he tried to dodge it. The locomotive engine whirred as the carriage gathered speed, screeching along the tracks.

A dusting of freckles. Inky tresses secured in a bun. Satin trousers.

She had entranced him, it was true. A brief encounter, yet an enchanting one. She had invaded his subconscious, sifting through scattered dreams. Those eyes. _Her_ eyes. He had never seen another pair so bright, so bold, so bewitching.

_Could I find her once again?_

He mulled the thought over as he reached for the slippery bar of soap. Citrus and tangy. 

_Should I?_

It had been enthralling meeting her. _Marinette._ A smile tugged at the corner of his mouth. He tried to suppress it. Acting like a schoolboy with a crush would get him nowhere. It had been a short introduction. Could it lead to more? Or could a second meeting ruin the magic he had conjured?

_Chloé._

How could he forget? The implications with her family may impede upon foraging new ones. Ones he did not have the right to. Yet, even as logic blazed before him, a small voice beckoned.

_There’s no harm in asking._

He stepped out of the shower, securing a cotton towel around his waist, and shaking the droplets free from his hair. A puddle flowed beneath his feet as he exited the bathroom. He stared into the exhaustive depths of the wardrobe. Upon limited debate, Adrien reached into the shadows, retrieving an Egyptian blue polo neck. It was simple to pair with black jeans and Vans. Minimal, casual, yet put-together. He surveyed his appearance in the adjacent mirror. Blonde locks extended, falling into his eyes. He would need a haircut soon. At present, he attempted to style the unruly mane, parting it slightly to the side. It would have to suffice.

He crossed the vast space to check his phone. Thankfully, he had the presence of mind to charge it overnight. Unsurprisingly, Chloé had messaged. Numerous times. _Nothing important, then._ He tucked it into his back pocket, ignoring the influx of notifications. Grabbing his leather jacket from its usual hook near the door, Adrien descended the marble staircase to reach the dining room. The lack of an atmosphere floated above him on a dreary cloud as he entered the uninviting room.

The furnishings commanded a stiff and gloomy presence. How he loathed mahogany furniture. It sucked the remaining soul left in the vicinity, which had not been much. The dining table extended before him, never-ending. Two dozen chairs displayed, always empty. Exactly who, he often pondered, did his father expect to invite? The room had never experienced a fourth soul at one time. He suspected it never would. His brow crinkled in agitation as phantom guests chuckled at his frustrations.

He chose a seat – the same seat he always chose – and waited. A tall woman, athletic and perceptive, entered from the door farthest from his position. A second soul. The dark lacquer glared at him as the door swung opened, closed.

“Adrien.” He had become numb to her curt greetings. In the past, her aloof nature had stung his pride, wounded his value. As he matured, a realisation had dawned on him: Nathalie was not uncaring towards him – that is to say, not only towards him. She was indifferent towards everyone. That, at the very least, was a minor comfort.

“Nathalie.” Economical. Polite.

“Your schedule for today,” she nodded towards a shiny tablet. “A lunch with the Bourgeois family at fourteen-hundred hours.”

“Must you be so precise?” he muttered under his breath, thankfully unnoticed by Nathalie as she flicked through various tabs and calendar requests.

The resident chef entered. A third soul. The tray was lifted to reveal rising steam, which floated with purpose to the ceiling. The aroma of freshly made omelettes, peppered with parsley and Parmesan. Adrien inhaled hungrily. “Thank you, Marlena.”

She nodded, backed away. Exited. His father had instilled a quiet presence amongst each staff member. “You should not be _seen._ You should not be _heard_ ,” his father would bark. Silence and invisibility were traits his father preferred and upheld himself. Adrien, on the other hand, detested the eerie calm that shrouded the mansion.

He cleared his throat awkwardly. “Nathalie… may I request a list of the catering company’s employees?”

A sharp glare. The alarm that something had gone wrong the night before clouded her features. “Would you like to file a complaint?”

“No, no.” He waved a hand dismissively. He did not need suspicions of misconduct. His father would never hire the same catering company twice if he caught wind of such talk. “More of a… commendation. The staff were wonderful.”

He was met with raised eyebrows. How did she pencil them in so precise?

“Unfortunately, I do not hold that information. The catering company would need to be contacted directly. Which, I suspect, is data they would be unwilling to provide.”

His shoulders sagged. He felt foolish for not thinking of such complications beforehand. He would have to meet her by chance, then. Or call the company and use his charms.

“I will have the car pulled around.” With that, their short exchange was over, leaving him alone to finish his breakfast. Adrien scoffed the meal, humming to himself in appreciation.

As usual, once finished, he left the discarded cutlery behind.

As usual, throughout the entire dining experience, a fourth soul never entered.

Adrien descended the exterior granite staircase to meet the awaiting chariot and its driver. Gravel was graced with luxury as a black Rolls Royce Phantom exhaled. The glossy exterior had been polished and buffed into perfection. The new chauffeur opened the rear door, extending a courteous bow. _Younger than the last one_. Adrien clocked the name tag before sliding onto fresh leather, a constellation of artificial stars gleaming above him, manufactured interstellar clouds mingling together. They mimicked the night’s sky well. _Pierre._ He would have to remember that.

“Where to, Sir?” A voice oozing with enthusiasm was rare. _We will see how long that lasts._ Adrien passed the co-ordinates to the young man.

The Phantom roared to life, purring through the landscape. Cobbled streets and the city’s skyline greeted them.

“Anything nice planned for today, Sir?” Pierre’s chipper voice pierced through his hangover. He despised mundane chit-chat.

“I wouldn’t call it nice.”

“You should plan to do something you enjoy today, Sir. My mother always said to never waste a day-“

“Excuse me. I have a phone call to make.” His tone was sharp, cutting. He did not necessarily intend to hurt the young man’s feelings, he just wished for some peace and quiet. He did have a phone call to make. A very important one.

“Hello, this is Elite Catering and Events, how may we help-“

“This is Adrien Agreste.”

Silence.

It seemed he would have to remind the employee on the other end of the event that transpired only twelve hours before. “Your company catered for a party last night.”

“Y-yes that would be correct, Sir.” He had instilled the fear of God in the young woman. A name was a powerful weapon. “Was there an issue?” The female’s voice began to shake.

“No, no. Your team were wonderful. I was calling to commend your services.”

“Oh! Thank you, Sir! We greatly appreciate the call!” All traces of nervousness and anxiety were extinguished. She continued to gush, “This is high praise!”

People were easily pleased. “I would like to enquire about an employee. Her name is Marinette.”

An uncomfortable pause stretched through the line. “I-I’m sorry, Sir. We cannot provide personal information regarding our staff.”

“Under usual circumstances, I would concur. However, Marinette executed her duties splendidly. I would like to tell her so myself.”

“Again, I can only apologise, Mr Agreste.” Her tone became thick with tension as she tried to be assertive.

Adrien sighed with exasperation, pinching the bridge of his nose. In a world with a wealth of information available at the tip of a finger, it surprised him how difficult some information was to obtain.

Pale sunlight parted the trees. A red light halted the vehicle. A crowd passed lazily. Through the tinted window, Adrien’s eyes grazed the nearby humdrum of the street as he waited impatiently for the car to continue its route, looking into shop windows, potted plants, designer bags.

It was time for the art of persuasion. Failing that, intimidation. “There must be _some_ way-“

Raven hair. A neatly groomed ponytail. Pink ribbon cinching the loose hairs in place.

His conversation halted. The phone trembled in his palm. There, in a quaint café, she bustled through the busy atmosphere, taking orders, and smiling politely. Without a shadow of a doubt, he had found her.

“Thank you for your time.” He hung up. “Pierre, I’m getting out.”

“Mr Agreste! You’ll be late-“

“Park around the corner!” He commanded, slamming the door with finality. He did not have time to argue with the chauffeur.

His heart pounded wildly in his chest as he jogged across the street, weaving with great effort between herded strangers. He reached the secure nook of the café, aptly named the Rose Café, as its entrance appeared to invite customers into a manicured garden. Pink and red roses arched above the doorway, tangled together in a beautiful bouquet. With a trembling hand, Adrien fixed his appearance and opened the door.

The scent of freshly roasted coffee beans and flavoured syrups filled his nostrils. The café bustled with a productive energy as waitresses performed their duties with dazzling smiles, customers bounced with the consumption of caffeine, and old friends greeted one another. Animated chit-chat reached a crescendo in the centre of the venue, almost masking the distant sound of shattering plates in the kitchen.

Adrien draped his vintage Yves Saint Laurent leather jacket over a nearby chair. It rocked unsteadily under the weight. He was distantly aware that customers were gawping at him as he moved across oak floorboards. Was it that unusual for a young man to frequent this establishment? He could find the time to be embarrassed later.

With purpose, he sauntered towards the counter. He waited in line behind three teenagers who stole unwelcome glances in his direction, giggling loudly. He pretended to peruse the available menu as he willed his heart to calm. Most of it had been written in pink chalk, with hearts and roses dotted around the lettering. He wondered if Marinette had been responsible for the artistic flairs. The line shrunk as each customer was served. The anticipation was killing him. He had been unable to see her with each exchange before him, as her height disadvantaged his view.

The last customer moved along, leaving an opening. His time had come. He stepped up to the counter with a shy confidence, hoping she would remember him. His eyes fell upon her small frame, which exuded a cheerful attitude. “What may I get for you today?” Her voice was as sweet as a strawberry lance was sugary – his favourite candied treat. Her long, luscious eyelashes graced his body, finally reaching his face. The hint of a butterfly’s wings threatened to pick up speed within his stomach. Cobalt blue with a hint of mauve. He had remembered correctly.

“Oh! Mr Agreste!” Surprise lined her mouth. Her peach lip gloss highlighted the shape of her lips. 

“Adrien,” he modified for the second time in twenty-four hours, a lopsided smile extending. His legs felt like jelly. _Watch yourself, Agreste. You have a reputation to uphold._

“Adrien... Agreste.” She smiled brightly just as his knees threatened to buckle. Hearing his name from a voice so saccharine was uncommon. He almost let it floor him before his airs caught up to him. He must have left them outside with his wit. “What would you like today?”

“I’ll have a vanilla latte, please.”

“He has a sweet tooth,” she grinned to herself, one eyebrow raised in a teasing manner.

_Yes, almost as sweet as you._

“Coming right up.”

Adrien mentally shook himself out of his daze as Marinette busied herself with the coffee station behind her. “Is this to take away?” He answered yes, although he wished he could stay and observe her working for a while. Her uniform consisted of a bubble-gum pink quarter-sleeve with a stiff collar and a ruby bowtie. These garments were paired with formal black trousers and a red apron. Her ensemble only increased her cuteness. It was as if Cupid himself had designed her attire, ensuring an adorable uniform was the top priority when brewing coffee. It must have attracted repeat custom, which he supposed was the point.

Adrien failed to avert his gaze from her behind, remembering how accentuated it had been the night before. Internally, he cringed at his own pattern of thought. _Why does it sound like I am in an embarrassing, poorly written romance novel? I need to remember my manners._ After all, he was no longer a hormonal teenager; he was a young man, embarking upon the world. He had far superior compliments to give a woman, that showcased his maturity and intellect. Marinette did possess an attractive build, no one could deny that, however she was graceful in the way she moved, radiated beauty when she smiled, and her attitude to life was overtly positive. These were the qualities that made her attractive. He wondered how she remained so upbeat, even when she clearly balanced two jobs. _She must be exhausted._

Steam rose from the machine as Marinette fiddled with the buttons. With an expert flick of her wrist, she drew something in syrup atop the bubbling foam. She turned to face him, beaming with satisfaction. “A vanilla latte for a Mr Adrien Agreste.”

“Are you ever going to drop the formalities?” He queried, hoping she would relinquish her decorum.

“Maybe. Outside of work.” Her eyes sparkled as she handed him the cup. Their fingers brushed, his long, slender digits gracing hers. He inhaled sharply, trying to remain calm and collected. It was only an innocent touch, nothing romantic.

His eyes fell to the foam, curious to see what she had imprinted. In vanilla syrup, Marinette had written, “Have a nice day!”, accented with roses and a heart. So she had been responsible for the chalkboard. His skin heated as he stared at the curved symbol. _Is she... flirting with me?_

“My speciality! I have been testing my art abilities on customer’s orders. Plus, the manager thinks it’s a great idea to promote on social media.” Her voice was chipper and lacked any hint of seduction.

 _Right… everyone’s orders._ Not just his. He felt a pang of disappointment at the revelation. “You definitely have talent.” He passed her a note. “Keep the change.” He turned to leave, picking up a sachet of sugar.

“A-Adrien,” her voice was lower than before, her eyes averted shyly. He wondered if he had mistaken the exchange when a pause followed. “I hope you come again,” she blurted, a blush blossoming across her cheeks as she smiled timidly, doe-eyes full of an emotion he could not identify.

In that moment, he didn't care if she acted the same with every customer. The way she uttered his name had sent his heart soaring. He met her gaze with a genuine smile of his own before the customer behind him complained about the wait. He exited the café with a warm feeling spreading throughout his chest and down his throat as he sipped the freshly brewed liquid, forgetting his jacket.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope everyone is staying safe and taking care of themselves!


	3. Wolf in Sheep's Clothing

Plush red carpet sunk beneath his weight, springing back into place as he moved. Vintage patterns clung to the walls, illuminated by crystal chandeliers that hung from elegant chains, twinkling with a subdued light. The ambience of the venue encouraged relaxation and repeat patronage, which was the foundation for its success. Adrien had yet to experience the renowned spa, which had been featured in various magazines. According to a quote from an eager journalist, the spa facilities were ‘the most luxurious in France. Guests can enjoy a tranquil experience that will soothe the soul’. However, serenity and peace for the spirit came with an extortionate price tag. The hotel owned by the Bourgeois family was as prestigious as it was expensive. No casual weekend getaways were spent here – only the most affluent guests were welcome. Thus, it was the ideal location for a business deal. Not many guests would be close by to interrupt – or overhear.

“Sir, your son has arrived.” With the wave of a hand, a well-groomed waiter bowed majestically, giving way to a subservient manner. Adrien’s jaw locked firmly as he glared at the ashen haired man before him, ignoring the presence of anyone else to stare down Gabriel Agreste.

“Father.” He hissed the word as if it were a hex.

“Sit. Join us.” It was not an invitation. It was a thinly veiled command. _Try and challenge me,_ it begged, _we’re in front of company now._

“Adrikins!” Chloé squealed, patting the chair beside her with an enthusiasm that would border on the criminally insane. Adrien detested these meetings with a passion. She was overbearing in her adoration for him, and it poisoned his tolerable façade. Often, he desired to storm out of the room, to run as far away from her as possible. He never did.

“André. Audrey.” He gave a curt nod in the direction of Chloé’s parents, finally acknowledging their presence.

“So lovely to see you again,” Audrey replied, an unnaturally wide grin disturbing her features. It was a forced, fake smile, only with the intention of buttering up Gabriel. Evidently, she needed this deal to go through. “You looked positively dashing in that suit last night.”

“Thank you. One of the finest from Gabriel Agreste Designs.” He did not want to be polite or compliment his father’s collection. Yet he had no choice. He had to behave. _Act appropriately. It will be over soon._

It was not the Bourgeois’ fault, exactly. They were only conducting their usual business, and he could not crucify them for creating business deals. Gabriel was the one he should be targeting his anger towards.

“He is always handsome,” Chloé interjected, fluttering her eyelash extensions. He noticed one detaching itself from the glue adhered to her lash line. He did not reach out to catch it. _No point having her misconstrue a simple act unnecessarily, mistaking it is a romantic gesture._

“The reason we are all here,” Gabriel began, expertly redirecting the conversation, “is to discuss the future.” Gabriel’s index finger tapped once, twice, upon the foot of the glass supporting his preferred wine. For a moment, his sky-blue eyes glazed over, as if lost in thought or memory. The crimson liquid began its turbulent swish around the confines of the glass with each flick of his wrist. He became entranced with how it moved – with a fluidity that fabric could only hope to mimic, yet never fully achieve.

“The future.” André agreed in a gruff voice, halting Gabriel’s train of thought.

“Yes.” His curt nod communicated his displeasure at being interrupted. “I think a collaboration is necessary. Audrey and I, will, of course, work closely together throughout this project. Audrey will assist with constructing the designs and I will personally choose the fabrics.”

“Oh, this is wonderful news!” Audrey squealed, leaning forward with excitement blazing behind the gigantic frames she hid behind. It was evident that her joy was contained as she practically squirmed in the seat, desperately wanting to jump out of it.

“Quite.” Gabriel’s blasé expression was not unfamiliar to Adrien. He had seen it many times prior to this; disappointing report cards and grades, employees slipping in their duty, new collaborations that with time had become common, almost as mundane as completing paperwork. The thrill of a new project had simply grown stale for his father; nothing seemed to stimulate him anymore. Adrien supposed there was only one activity that inspired a small rush of exhilaration for Gabriel Agreste… and it was Adrien’s least favourite. He tugged at the neck of the jumper, feeling the hairs on the back of his neck rise. In the pit of his stomach, a quiet storm began to brew. He knew his father too well. Something else was coming. “The new designs will be the forefront of the autumn line. It will generate vast publicity.”

André nodded sagely, as if he had been aware of the news before this meeting and actively involved in the decision. Chloé appeared delighted, matching her mother’s level of enthusiasm as they clinked glasses. Following the news of the collection, André and Audrey turned to Gabriel expectantly, grins tugging at their lips. They looked like a cat who had caught a canary and butchered it in plain sight, unashamed of the consequences. Adrien’s nerves rose. It was coming.

“Furthermore,” Gabriel persisted, wary of the celebrations that may erupt and wishing to endure them all at once, “the Bourgeois family and I have decided that an arranged marriage will commence in December of this year, uniting our two households. The autumn line will generate interest and create a higher profile for Adrien and Chloé’s impending nuptials.”

“What?!” Adrien spat out the champagne he had consumed with mild glee, utterly disgusted with the news. He could never have anticipated _this_. His stomach churned like butter, roiling with repulsion. Red began to distort his vision as fury clawed at his chest, begging to be released from the cage behind his ribs. _How could father do this? He did not even have the courtesy to ask for my opinion._

Chloé was elated, however, clinging on to his arm like a leech. “Adrikins! I am delighted! I cannot wait to be your wife.” Waiting staff bustled around the table, popping new bottles of champagne, and delivering exquisite platters of food, piled high with delicacies and sweet treats that Adrien could not eat. He had a contract now. He had to watch his figure and be cautious with his diet. _God forbid an Agreste gain weight._

Chloé sprang out of her chair to hug her parents tightly, whispering how grateful she was. Audrey’s smile practically split her face in half as she discussed wedding plans with her daughter, eager to replace Chloé’s surname to ensure a lifelong partnership, both in business and in blood.

Adrien slammed his fists on the table, causing the utensils to shake. All eyes fell upon him as an uncomfortable silence followed. The waiting staff suspended their actions, halting the pouring of celebratory liquid. “This is news to me,” he chuckled dryly, rising from his position to stand over each of them. “Did anyone think to consult myself or Chloé? Perhaps our lives are only seen as clever marketing techniques to advertise your business empire?” This meeting was comical. His laugh became more hysterical as tears gathered behind his eyes. He almost sounded deranged as his body shuddered, unable to comprehend the insanity of it all. He wiped the water that had escaped from his lashes. _The rich become richer, the ones who get stamped on become pulverised._

“Adrien, a word.” Gabriel’s smile was pleasant, passive. To company, it appeared that his father would straighten things out in a cool, peaceful manner. Yet Adrien was not a fool. He knew better.

Gabriel led Adrien into a nearby cloakroom, a claustrophobic space full of varying materials: fur coats, velvet jackets, cashmere scarves. He heard the familiar sound of a lock sliding into place, and the tension within the small room tripled.

“I won’t do it,” Adrien spat venomously, turning quickly on his heel to face his father. “I won’t.”

“You will.” Gabriel’s demeanour projected calm and collectiveness as he stepped towards his son. His tall frame towered over Adrien’s, causing him to shrink back with uncertainty. In truth, Gabriel only held a few inches over him, yet Adrien still felt like a child in his presence. He could feel the panic expanding inside of him, rising, bubbling, popping.

The muscles in Adrien’s calves began to quiver with adrenaline. “You expect me to go through with this?” It was ludicrous. He was still so young, so unsure of the world before him. He had no time to figure out who he was as an individual, without his father’s input. Yet here they were in a confined coat room, arguing about his future. _Or lack thereof._ The bitter taste in his mouth stung his tongue, making it difficult to swallow. _He did not even consult me about my own life. My future. I should have had a say in this, a voice to defend myself._ The storm raged inside, gathering every negative emotion into a cloud of gloom.

“I do, and you will.” His father’s eyes darkened, a threatening glint peeking through the hues of blue. “You will not disobey me, Adrien.”

Bolts of lightening pricked his skin like tiny needles as adrenaline reached his chest, spreading throughout every limb and controlling the beat of his heart. It quivered with resentment, stuttering the hatred it harboured. The words crawled along his throat as he begged his mouth to cooperate. As much as he tried to bite back his tongue, it resisted, and the words tumbled forth. “You should have consulted me about my future.”

It was the wrong answer. He was aware of it, yet the disparity of the situation was causing his anger to unhinge. His father had moulded him with expert hands in his childhood, carving a sculpture in his own image, emphasising his features as much as possible to reflect his own. Yet, his father had led his own life, free of shackles and burdens. Why did Adrien’s life have to be so different? Why did his future have to be taken away from him, his fate sealed without his consent?

Silence or agreement were the two answers his father had been seeking, and Adrien had failed the test. A sadistic smile pervaded his father’s features as he leaned back, akin to amusement. His features were pinned in place in a grotesque manner, reminding Adrien of a circus clown, fake with the appearance of joviality. Gabriel removed his glasses, pocketing them with a careful pat; a caution he only used with inanimate objects. It was frivolous and spurred Adrien’s animosity, like the kicks of a horse.

Adrien predicted his father’s actions and attempted to brace himself, yet he could never prepare in time. Gabriel raised his hand and drew his shoulder back, flexing his trained muscles. They rippled impressively beneath his crisply ironed shirt. With an overindulgent force, he struck Adrien on the side of his left cheek, impressed with the red outline of his hand. He pulled back mercifully, straightening his tie, and readjusting his glasses as he secured the frames behind his ears.

Adrien’s cheek stung as the heat of where his father’s palm had struck him grew cold. The tingling sensation travelled along his jawline as he exhaled with relief. He refused to let tears well. He could not afford to show weakness in front of Gabriel. After all, he could no longer feign astonishment at his father’s cruel intentions. Ever since his mother’s death almost ten years ago, his father’s behaviour had drastically changed. Unfortunately, this had become a common occurrence.

“I do not need to consult _you_ about anything.” With his parting words that cracked like a whip, Gabriel smoothed a stray hair back into place, restoring its glossy, professional appearance. Not a single hair could be out of place; the mask had to be perfect. So far, the wolf had tugged the wool over the sheep’s eyes. Regrettably for Gabriel, his disguise had fooled everyone but his son.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I want to take my time with this story to ensure every chapter is decent and to figure out where the story is going, so uploads may be spread apart. I hope you all can bare with me!
> 
> I'm unsure of tags - Gabriel and Adrien's relationship will have violence in this story. Does anyone know if this comes under the graphic violence warning/tags that I should include?


	4. Drowned Sorrows

The bass pounded from the connected speakers, vibrating through the soles of his white sneakers, rattling his bones, pulsating through the liquids that pumped around his body and causing each cell to bash against one another where, eventually, the vibrations travelled to the core of his being, penetrating his soul. A flimsy plastic table teetered under the weight of glass bottles containing multiple alcoholic beverages, a few plastic cups tossed untidily beside each guest’s preferred tipple. Adrien gripped a clear container, labelled vodka, and filled the cup to the top, almost causing it to overflow. Anyone else would have poured mixer in – coke, orange juice, sprite, you name it – yet Adrien drank it straight. He wanted to forget. He did not particularly want to remember the tingling sensation across his flesh where his father had struck him, or the terrible events that had transpired that day. Not only did he have to struggle in a never-ending battle with his father, he was now shackled to Chloé and a life of misery as her dutiful husband.

He deserved this. He deserved to drown his sorrows tonight.

After his inevitable scuttle with Gabriel, Adrien had stormed out of the hotel and into the reflective Phantom, ignoring the texts of warning his father had sent. The heated leather seats offered little consolation towards soothing his pain. He had ordered Pierre to take him home immediately, no questions asked. Adrien’s aura certainly projected a hostile front, and Pierre knew better than to delve into his employer’s business. The silence was awkward and added to the tension building in his shoulders.

As soon as Adrien had entered his home, he stripped and showered again, hoping to rinse the evidence from his face and scrub it from his mind. The scalding water did little to melt away his troubles, and he was unsuccessful with the latter. He walked towards his wardrobe with intended purpose, staring at the suit jacket that begged to be dry-cleaned. Adrien inhaled deeply, deciding that he needed an escape for the evening. He located the business card in his suit and contacted the number, waiting for the young man to pick up.

“Hello?” A voice plagued with slumber answered. A yawn extended through the line as Adrien waited impatiently.

“Nino? It’s Adrien Agreste.” He tapped his bare foot nervously on the concrete floor, hoping the DJ would remember him.

“My man! How’s things?” Nino’s voice burst forth with renewed energy, suddenly revived from his sleep-deprived state. He did not wait for Adrien to answer his seemingly rhetorical question. “I’m having a little get together tonight at my place, you ready for a drink?” Adrien could practically feel the smirk on Nino’s face from the other end of the phone.

“That’s why I called. Count me in.” With that, Nino passed details to Adrien, including the time and location, sealing the promise of his arrival through the invisible field of telecommunication.

Adrien sipped his beverage, remembering the conversation and how it had delivered him here, tonight. A hint of vanilla swirled in his mouth and he smiled brightly. The flavour was a welcome surprise. _The only welcome surprise I’ve ever had._ As a rule, Adrien declined surprising gifts, events, or anything akin. Surprises, in his experience, were unpleasant and caused grief, not joy. He preferred to live without them.

“Hey, man!” A strong hand clapped him on the shoulder, slender fingers massaging his skin.

“Nino,” Adrien greeted as he rotated to face him, the second genuine smile of the day gracing his features. “How are you? This party is chaos, man.”

“Tell me about it!” Nino’s laugh burst forth, almost as loud as the set the current DJ was playing. His guffaw mingled with the music, lacing with the energetic beat. “You know how it goes; invite one girl, you gain six, invite a couple of guys, you capture a stadium.”

Adrien surveyed the guests, observing Nino’s fact to be the truth. For every female, there were at least three males vying for her attention. _At least I don’t have to worry about that anymore. I suppose there is a silver lining to an arranged marriage._

“What about you? Did you come with anyone?” Nino’s voice sliced through Adrien’s contemplation.

“No, I’m flying solo tonight. Just needed an excuse to drink.” His tongue welcomed another sip of the flavoured liquid.

“I could introduce you to a few people?” His newly acquainted friend wiggled his thick eyebrows suggestively. Adrien afforded himself a moment to think it over by gulping more vodka and studied Nino. He was unusually tall, reaching an estimated six feet and seven inches. Adrien lagged behind in comparison, measuring to six feet and two inches. Nino’s frame seemed sculpted and athletic from the trail of undone buttons that showcased his physique. Ebony hair was styled messily, a stray strand falling into melting caramel orbs. Adrien’s eyes drifted over his outfit. A pale lavender silk shirt met black ripped jeans. A silver chain rested on Nino’s clavicle, glinting flirtatiously beneath the staggered strobe lighting. It was a jarring and bold fashion choice; elegant fabric clashing with grungy apparel. Wildly, Adrien decided it suited him and wished he had the freedom to dress similarly. He certainly was not as polished as he had been at his father’s event, yet his appearance was roguish and fashionable, in an effortless way.

“Sure.” He finally agreed, rationalising that meeting new people could prove to be a pleasant experience, as he followed Nino through the mass of writhing bodies on the dancefloor. Distinct scents merged; a waft of alcohol, smoke that lingered on articles of clothing, the odour of fake tan, a hint of sweat. Sharp, clumsy limbs whacked into his form as he elbowed inebriated groups of people out of the way to clear a path. Someone stumbled, yelling “Oi!” into the darkness. By then, the duo had already moved swiftly onwards, engulfed in a sea of transformative figures.

“Whew!” Nino wiped his brow with a dramatic flair as he broke free from the crowd. “We barely made it out alive!” A light-hearted chuckle escaped Adrien’s lips, catching him off-guard. It certainly felt liberating to laugh absentmindedly, without having to orchestrate a manufactured chortle to satisfy a business acquaintance. His shoulders relaxed, the tension from earlier dissipating.

“Nino! Who’s your handsome friend?” A confident woman approached the pair, raising a kittenish eyebrow and flicking her hair over one shoulder. Ombre locks cascaded to her hips, curled in loose waves. Hazel eyes were framed with long lashes and circular glasses, the cheetah print design highlighting the gold flecks in her irises. Her makeup was mattified and contoured to perfection, paired with a glossy lip that projected the illusion of a wet surface. The mystery woman adorned simple gold jewellery that complimented her outfit; a blush ribbed crop top that sparkled as she moved, a dazzling belly button piercing, white jeans that hugged her hips and platform heels. She stood before them, almost matching Adrien’s height, exuding a flirtatious and self-assured aura. 

Nino smirked mischievously, curling an index finger beneath her chin, tilting her face towards his own. “I thought you only had eyes for me, baby girl.”

The pair seemed enthralled with one another as they gazed into each other’s eyes. A few seconds ticked by as Adrien shifted uncomfortably, feeling like a third wheel. As if struck with a sledgehammer, the woman startled as if remembering her surroundings, the temporary spell broken. “As if!” She snapped, waving his hand away. Although, from the pale blush blossoming on her cheeks, Adrien could tell Nino had succeeded in flustering her.

“Adrien, this is Alya.” He introduced the two strangers, gesturing between them. “Be nice,” he warned Alya with a serious tone before he circulated an apology. “I have to check the ice and alcohol levels, excuse me. Being a host is _very_ taxing.”

Suddenly, embarrassment set in for Adrien as Nino weaved through the crowd, leaving Alya and Adrien alone. He looked down at his appearance, feeling out of place and underdressed. He had wanted to blend in as if he were a weathered piece of furniture, unremarkable and unnoticeable. _Who would want to be recognised as that child model that went AWOL for a few years after his mother’s passing?_ The gravity of his situation stung, a burden he was almost unable to bear. Thus, he desired to skate by unseen at this party. He had suspected black was the ideal choice to practice the art of camouflage. His tank top showcased his muscular arms, jeans meeting sneakers. The only accented pieces he wore consisted of a silver ring his mother had given him before her passing, and a necklace with swinging dog tags. A simple, effortless look with a dark colour palette – the ultimate disguise. Or, so he had thought, before he had unintentionally piqued Alya’s interest.

“So, Green Eyes,” her sultry voice began as she sipped her drink. Her manicured nails were filed into pointed talons, fierce and intimidating, ready to strike. _How does she type on a keyboard with those?_ “I haven’t seen you at Nino’s before, you must be fresh meat. He collects strays from time to time, and you look lonely. I don’t mind keeping you company for a while.” A wink.

Adrien met her gaze, flashing a lopsided grin as his confidence returned to him. He dialled it up, hoping to appease his anxiety. “I’d appreciate that.”

“You know, you look kind of familiar…” she pressed a finger to her chin, lost in thought as her eyebrows crinkled. He could almost see the name forming on her lips as her mind caught up, piecing the puzzle together. _Well, the cat’s out of the bag now…_

“Agreste. Adrien Agreste.” He grinned widely, using one hand to muss up his locks and the other to take her hand. The light of recognition exploded behind her eyes as she gripped his palm to shake it. Adrien, however, did not intend to be polite, and he could not subdue his coquettish behaviour. In a swift movement, he tugged the surface of her hand to his lips, grazing it with a delicate kiss. She gasped in surprise, which shifted into delight at his actions. He was arrogant and she loved it. They all did.

“If I’d have known I would be meeting a celebrity tonight, I would have dressed for the occasion.” She was fishing for a compliment. Gallant.

“You are stunning – a true sight to behold,” he obliged, stepping towards her. _Even if I am reluctantly engaged, I am still allowed to have some fun, right?_ What did he have to lose, anyway?

“You flatter me,” she breathed, pressing open palms to his chest. “You don’t look too bad yourself.” She glided her hands over his muscles, feeling each taut string of strength beneath his flesh. He could see it in her eyes; the hungry look, the desperation, the greed that lurked in his reflection that stared back at him. She had an agenda. They all did.

What did he care about an agenda? He had some of his own. He wanted to forget, and he would do damn near anything to ignore the grim cards his father had dealt him.

Alya snaked her arms securely around his neck, anchoring him in place. Her expression emphasised her determination as she leaned closer. Adrien placed his hands on her waist, hugging her figure. Her curves sloped dangerously beneath his fingers. He dipped his head lower, hooded eyes searching hers, silently asking permission. She nodded, answering his unspoken question with zeal, inching closer until her lips hovered a millimetre from his. Her breath fanned his cheek as he watched her eyes flutter alluringly.

She was right where he wanted her, and now, he had a choice to make.


	5. Hostile Depths

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Your questions have been answered!

He leaned in, levelling with the shell of her ear. “Our host could kick us out of the party,” Adrien whispered, smiling mischievously. “I don’t think he’ll be pleased.”

“What?” Alya’s eyes snapped open, confusion clouding her vision.

“I doubt Nino would appreciate his ‘baby girl’ kissing a stranger.” Adrien was enthusiastic about an intimate embrace with a gorgeous woman, yet he had decided; Alya evidently had a thing for Nino, as much as she flirted with Adrien or anyone else for that matter, and the feelings Nino harboured were mutual. He barely knew either of them, yet he could identify a special connection between the two. Besides, he had warmed up to Nino and needed a friend more than a warm body for the evening.

“He doesn’t own me! I can do whatever I want!” Her indignant stance had returned, stiffening her posture. Adrien barked out a laugh at her aggressive response. _I was right, she definitely has feelings for the guy._

“Are you trying to make me jealous?” An amused voice interrupted as footsteps drew closer. Nino revealed himself as he parted the darkness with hues of violet and honey, swirling a cup with ice. The blocks crashed together like icebergs, rattling against the plastic.

“You!” Alya’s fury had ignited, any hint of promiscuity extinguished. She extracted her grip on Adrien, turning on her heel to face Nino square on. “You just ruined my chance!”

“I’m giving you a better one,” he replied smoothly, lips twitching with amusement as he teased her.

“’A night with the local DJ’ does not read as well as a headline that says, ‘my night with a celebrity’, does it?!” Fumes were practically billowing from her ears as she confronted him, stamping a foot with outrage. It reminded him of a screeching kettle, ready to blow its top after reaching the boiling point.

“I’d give you plenty to write about, baby girl.” Nino winked and licked his lips provocatively, stooping low to meet her gaze. “Those articles will fly off the shelves – or rather, spike in engagement.” Adrien sensed a challenge lingering in the air, hovering like a cloud, their own version of flirting expanding between them like an elastic band, ready to break. The tension was almost too much to bear.

“Stop sweet talking your way into my jeans,” she replied, a little too breathily to be convincing as a scold.

“Imagine the _Ladyblog_ reaching new heights, capturing a wider audience; flooded with questions over what a great one-night stand _should_ be…” He licked his lips, wetting them to appear glossy and enticing. His words had worked a treat; Alya hooked her index finger around the chain resting on his collarbone, tugging him ever closer.

“Let’s go,” she commanded, dragging him by the makeshift collar he called an accessory. Adrien watched them abandon him with delight, entertained by their inside jokes and flirtations. _If only Chloé were half as entertaining, maybe a life with her would not be so dull…_

Catchy, offensive lyrics increased in volume. He swayed to the blaring music that caused the room to shake with a liveliness that was comforting. He briefly closed his eyes and began to loosen up, his limbs moving freely of their own accord. The dog tags resting on his chest swung with the beat, hitting his t-shirt as a reminder: _let go. Forget, forget, forget._ Adrien brought the cup to his lips, chugging the remaining vodka. His throat was aflame with the burning spirit, spreading a warmness to his chest. His surroundings became fuzzy as the percentage of alcohol coursed through his veins, soaking into his being. He blinked lazily, attempting to decipher the features on the faces floating above the dance floor. They moved in tandem to the rhythm, adding to his perplexity.

“Alya! Alya!” A small voice piped up from the corner of the hallway, lost under the idle drunken chitchat and bass flying from the speakers.

His arms and legs were heavy and sluggish. He stumbled clumsily, laughing at himself. It felt amazing to be indistinguishable in a crowd of mysterious strangers, able to vibe to the music, dance without a choreographed routine, drink as much as he preferred to and just _be._ He felt average, just like anyone else at this dimly lit party. It was worth appearing foolish for the small quantity of elation he could experience as a result.

“Alya!” The voice drew closer, muffled by fabric. Adrien shuffled backwards to accommodate the bodies that flailed before him, pushing him further into the crowd. One more inelegant step backwards and he was met with resistance. He winced as his back connected with someone of a smaller height. He turned to apologise as a petite woman fell backwards, in danger of her skull connecting with the slippery technicolour floor. In his inebriated state, Adrien’s actions were slower than usual, yet his movements blurred with a feline grace as he reached out to catch her. Relief coursed through him as her soft flesh collided with his outstretched arms, cradling her with a gentleness she had never experienced.

“Are you alright?” His hazy vision drank in her features, his mind working overtime to decode her face. After a nanosecond of hesitation, things became clearer. A full fringe fell into wide eyes, reflecting varying emotions; startled, relieved, grateful, recollection. He searched deeper, hopeful to reflect the recognition he had identified. Her eyes seemed familiar, as if he were staring into a galaxy of wonder. However, a thin scarf masked the lower half of her diamond shaped face, presenting difficulties for him in his intoxication.

“I-I am. T-thank you.” She tugged the tightly woven scarf from her nose, uncovering her mouth and chin. His lopsided grin returned as he held her, dipping her low in a risky manoeuvre. Chartreuse eyes sparkled with mischief as they held the gaze of shy azure orbs, gradient with Byzantium.

“I’m not sure if this is a coincidence or fate, but I’ll take either,” he flirted, clutching her tighter against his chest as one arm supported her lower back, the other gripping one of her hands against his chest, close to his thrashing heart. Her body temperature doubled, searing the exposed skin of his arms. Her perfume was fragrant and a welcome scent to mask the unpleasant odours that surrounded them: light, floral, breezy. It reminded him of freshly sprung daisies and the warm summer months, of never-ending fields and intense rays of sunshine.

“Why are you here?” She gasped, pulling herself upright. His arm tingled as her figure rose, the weight and heat of her body leaving him.

“Ouch. I’m wounded, my lady.” His tantalising tone caused her to roll her eyes as his free hand clasped his chest in mock heartbreak. He could hear his slurred words hang in the air, awkward and clunky. “Nino invited me. I met him at my father’s charity event.”

“Ah, I remember seeing him there. Quite a gig for him!”

“I suppose so!” After they shared a polite chuckle, the pair realised they were still holding hands, fingers intertwined snugly. Adrien’s heart stuttered, enamoured by her beauty. The same beauty he had dreamt of, which now stood before him, beguiling and glamorous. Marinette’s hair fell in soft curls, framing her delicate cheekbones. Her décolletage was exposed, showcasing her milky skin. He was tempted to brush his fingers along the prominent bone. Her shoulders were bare, glittering with sheer highlight, as the white top she wore clung to each bicep, securing the cloth in place. Black skinny jeans hugged her legs, outlining her curves, as suede knee-high boots met her knees, completing the look and adding height to her small frame. He bit back a laugh, noting how adorable her failed attempt at appearing taller had been. The scarf still puzzled him, though. He could feel his own sweat amalgamating, causing his top to cling to his muscles. The heat was stifling.

“The scarf…?” He shouted into the shell of her ear, trying to communicate effectively. He could feel the release of butterflies entering his stomach.

“Outside!” Her suggestion fell on deaf ears as Adrien struggled to hear her. He leaned in, hoping to pick it up the second time. He almost whispered how beautiful she looked, surveying her long lashes, specs of glitter spattered in them like paint, twinkling. In response, Marinette gripped his hand tightly, dragging him off the dance floor. He lagged almost lethargically behind her, the vodka pumping into his bloodstream. The cold night air hit him severely as he doubled over and wheezed, the icy temperature penetrating his lungs. “Sorry. I thought we could talk better out here.”

“Good… idea…” he gasped in agreement, trying to heave subtly.

“What were you saying in there?” She jabbed a thumb over her shoulder, referring to the party inside.

“The… scarf…?” he coughed, fanning his t-shirt against his damp skin.

“Huh? Oh. I hate the smell of smoke,” she explained, crossing her arms to warm herself up. “Have you seen Alya? I’m not sure if you know her-“

“I do,” his world tipped on its horizontal axis as he straightened his posture. He could feel his tongue fumbling with the words, mangling the alphabet. “She’s with Nino.”

Marinette seemed to take this in stride, nodding in acceptance. “I can’t be too mad that she ditched me, then. I was waiting for that to happen for the longest time!” Her squeal of glee enveloped Adrien in a bubble of elation. His heart swelled as he smiled foolishly at her, revelling in her delight. “Oh, you must want to sit down, you seem sloshed!” She laughed wholeheartedly, tugging on his heart strings. _I’d let you play them like a harp,_ he sighed as she hugged his arm, guiding him to sit on the wooden steps melting into the grass of the back garden. Amber lights twinkled from the hedges, extending to the branches of the trees. They winked their encouragement at him, filling his head with hope and fuelling the fantasy of a getaway. He temporarily daydreamed of a situation that involved running away with Marinette, far away from this party and these shadowy strangers, into the blanket of trees, to create a quiet moment for just the two of them, giggling as they discovered new things about one another, lying serenely beneath the stars.

“You are so kind and beautiful,” he exhaled, leaning his head on her slim shoulder.

“And you are _so_ _drunk_ ,” she giggled, patting his head like a stray cat. “You’ll be fine; I’ve got you.”

“Mmm,” he sighed dreamily, wrapping his arms securely around her waist. For a brief moment, she halted her fingers. Adrien snuggled in closer, secretly hoping that she would continue to stroke his golden strands. The last time someone had comforted him like this, not with wealth and extravagance or a diluted body in a freshly ironed hotel bed, was over a decade ago. The past had become crinkled and crummy, a bank of old photographs faded with time and, subsequently, age. He had forgotten what it was like to be consoled and vulnerable. 

Silence stretched between them as an owl hooted in the dusk, agitated. The absence of her touch was painful as the lack of heat caused him to shiver. He almost mewled verbally for her to resume.

Without a word, as if reading his mind, Marinette continued her actions, burying her fingers deeper into his tussled mane. Adrien inhaled deeply, cherishing her scent. He would remember this moment. It was the closest he had come to the real thing – love, vulnerability, consolation – in a long time. He pleaded with his drunken mind to memorise every single little detail to store away and replay later.

“You forgot your jacket,” she spoke slowly, hesitantly, as if the sound of her voice would shatter this moment and disturb their environment. Her fingers created circles, adjusting their pressure with each gentle caress. They eased, added pressure, looped in small circles at first, then large. He pressed his skull into her palm, enjoying the feeling.

“Hmm?” his response matched her uncertainty. A small breeze picked up, rustling the blades of grass. They waved in unison, crumpled by the force of the wind.

“Your leather jacket? You left it at the café.” She gazed longingly at the sky; he gazed longingly at her. He was aware that he was being ridiculous. He had come for a night out to misbehave, forget his problems, and find temporary, false relief in a stranger’s arms. So how had she buried beneath his skin? Marinette was a woman he did not even know, only identifiable by her slender face and doe eyed expression. Those captivating eyes that sought his soul, seeking more to him than what met the eye or his reputation. Or had he been imagining it? “I was wondering how to get it back to you…”

“You can keep it.” He willed for her to look at him. Each time he envisioned her gaze, it could not compare to the real thing. Even his imaginations did not do her justice. The hues of blue kissing the flecks of purple were not easy to articulate, particularly in relation to their vibrancy. They were intense yet blurred with a gradient effect that must have been blended by the gods themselves. _Did Narcissus carve you in his own image? Had Aphrodite a hand in shaping you? Did Zeus capture the lightning bolts behind your eyes?_ His musings were butchered by the drunken cackles of a couple seeking solitude as they stumbled outside in each other’s arms, barely holding themselves upright. He ignored them, realising how deep his thoughts had progressed. _What is this feeling?_ His heart felt full, threatening to burst with emotion. _Is it true? How can this be…?_ He shook his head fervently, reasoning that the flavoured vodka had played a devastating hand in all of this. It was the devil’s juice, after all. Of course, he was being ridiculous. How could he be _in love_ with someone he barely knew?

“Are you kidding?! That jacket costs more than my rent! I am returning it.” The vibrations in her chest levelled to a quiet hum, admixing with her heartbeat, which, Adrien observed, had not slowed down.

“Thank you for the hug,” he grinned, straightening his back, and coughing awkwardly, his cheeks tinging scarlet. He flexed the muscles, testing his control, masking a scowl. _I need another drink._

“You don’t need to thank me.” She stared at him, a barrier crumbling behind her gaze as if a wall had been repeatedly chipped until it ultimately caved. Her eyes held the stars as she peered at him, analysing his features. It felt like the entire world had been captured and reflected in her irises, tugging him towards her in a gravitational pull. They were like magnets, bound to meet. He could see the endless possibilities, a flicker of hope, a new beginning all in the shading of her lashes as they swooped upwards, reaching the sky. Adrien’s hand raised to meet her cheek, cradling her face as his thumb traced a soothing pattern upon her skin.

_Can I do this? …Should I do this?_

The question and answer blinked cautiously through the tinged leaves, creating a beacon of plight. It glared dangerously – an intimidating warning sign. His heart stalled, suddenly feeling the pressure of a finger suspended on the trigger of a loaded gun. The cold night air stung, beckoning the hairs on his arms to rise in defiance. Marinette’s breathing had slowed to a glacial pace, awaiting his next move.

_Am I brave enough to do this? What if I misread the signs?_

He gritted his teeth, his jaw locking with tension. His usual cockiness had evaporated, leaving him in an uncharacteristic jumble of nerves. He decided to roll the dice of chance and test his luck, inching closer towards her. His fingers trembled as his free hand leaned into the wooded decking below them, stabilising his actions. Ten seconds passed, which felt like ten years, as he moved clumsily. Marinette’s eyes wavered as she watched him, her eyelids closing, waiting.

His lips captured hers, melting into her form like heated butter. Stars exploded behind his eyes as he sighed dreamily. Her lip-gloss tasted like freshly picked strawberries, fresh and ripe. She provided warmth, shelter, a welcoming invitation to settle down. One taste of her plush lips, and he had become addicted.

He wanted more of her. His tongue grazed her bottom lip, seeking permission, as she granted access, one hand reaching out to cover his own on the decking. His pulse quickened, relishing her touch. She leaned into him, her other hand hesitating over his chest. His mind was transported into a memory from the past, overflowing with an emotion he struggled to decipher. It stirred something deep within his chest as his lips moved hungrily against Marinette’s. He wanted to devour her and cherish her all at once. The hand that cradled her cheek wove into her hair, disturbing her inky tresses as he massaged her skull, tugging her closer.

Without warning, a noisy crowd burst forth from the exit, yelling and cussing, interrupting their sacred moment. Adrien blinked lazily, almost cursing himself at the intrusion, licking his lips to savour the taste of her. His stomach roiled uncertainly as he tried to contain the fuzziness that had come over him as he had kissed her.

“Are you alright…?” she gasped, shock and… _is that guilt?_ , clouding her features as she reached out to him. He tried to respond but could not find his voice. His world teetered sideways as his vision blurred, static crawling to reach the centre of his iris.

Extending welcoming arms, the darkness greeted him like an old friend, beckoning him into its hostile depths.


	6. Leather Jacket

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Spoiler: Luka makes an appearance.

A laboured groan sliced through the fading afternoon light. His body felt heavy with exhaustion, as if weighted by an anchor into the mattress. He sunk lower into the fabric, springs poking into his sides. A pulsating pain spread throughout his left temple, vibrating with a throbbing sensation. His eyes slid open slowly, remnants of crusty rheum clinging to his fair eyelashes.

_How did I get here…?_

He stared vacantly at the familiar grey ceiling, dotted with spotlights, trying to recall the night before. He remembered little, yet the scenes began to click into place, adjusting into focus as if a camera lens were regaining concentration on an object.

The loud music that coursed through his veins, Nino’s roguish smile and Alya’s claws gripping the glistening chain that rested around his neck.

His memory dulled, growing fuzzy with the vodka.

He allowed himself the pleasure of a small smile as _she_ sprang to mind. He tried to remember each detail of her form; her hair falling in soft curls around her shoulders, crafted with a hot iron and time. Delicate cheekbones painted with a blush. A prominent collarbone, daring and glittering with gold. Milky skin. Slender fingers entwined with his own. Short breaths. Swollen lips.

He blushed severely. _I kissed Marinette… I kissed Marinette and blacked out._ He wanted to hide with the shame. He pulled the goose-feathered duvet up and over his head, his cheeks burning with the intensity of hot coals fresh from the fire.

_I drank too much and made a fool of myself in front of her. What a great lasting impression to leave, Agreste._

He screamed into a nearby pillow, channelling his mortification into a low, guttural sound. It smelled of sweat and alcohol. He needed another shower.

“Adrien?” Her voice was not timid like the others were. Nathalie had superiority, and with such standing came her boldness at rejecting calling him anything but his given name. No honorifics, no extra politeness to address his social class or rank, devoid of _Sir’s, Master’s,_ or _Monsieur’s._ He loathed it. 

“In here,” he supplied, exiting the shower, and securing a towelled bathrobe around his waist.

“A bruise?” She surveyed, motioning brusquely to his temple and eyeing him wearily. Adrien did not reply; he knew it did not shock her. “It seems you have a guest. Next time ensure they make an appointment.” With that, Nathalie whisked out of the room as quickly as she had arrived, clicking high heels smacking the concrete. Over her shoulder, she called, “Don’t forget you have a photo shoot today.”

 _How could I forget?_ Adrien stared at his own reflection in the mirror, wincing at the purple shadow gracing the flesh beside his eye. He patted it, testing its sensitivity. _I guess it can’t be helped. It will heal eventually._ He almost liked the new addition. It would make it more difficult for his father’s team, particularly the makeup artists, to hide it. And he liked that very much.

He dressed quickly, wondering all the while who his mystery guest could be, tugging a canary yellow jumper over his head, matching a grey, checked pair of trousers to it.

Adrien raced downstairs to check the monitor. Of course, Nathalie had refused to open the door until Adrien himself had confirmed the stranger’s identity. _Typical Nathalie. She’s a torture._

A hooded figure stood in the rain, facing the speaker attached to the pillar joining the gate. The monitor crackled. “Hello? This is Adrien Agreste.”

“Adrien! I’m returning this!” The figure waved a piece of fabric towards the lens. “You left your jacket at the café, remember?”

_That voice._

Saccharine, animated, cheerful. The information she supplied unscrambled his confusion at once.

_Of course. The party. She told you she would._

He just had not expected her to show up at his house.

_How had she found it?_

He gripped the opportunity of her presence, staring unabashedly at her features through the tiny screen, observing how her lashes glistened with droplets. They seemed to enhance the length of each individual lash as the natural hair glittered. “Considering it is a designer brand, I thought you would like it back!”

“Come on in.” He pressed the appropriate button to grant access, waiting for her timid knock at the handsome door. A member of staff rushed to the entrance to invite the unannounced guest. Adrien pushed his damp locks back from dripping into his eyes, the other hand resting upon the chestnut balustrade. His bare feet absorbed the coolness of the veined marble, sending a chill along the length of his spine.

“Thank you!” Her vivacious tone echoed throughout the vast entrance, pinging from each empty corner and sleek surface to greet her once again. Adrien stilled with admiration. He had never once heard a cheerful voice fill any room, much less the front door used for entrances and exits. How did she manage to illuminate even the dimmest of spaces?

“Oh, don’t worry about me! I can hang up my own coat,” her smile revealed a dazzling row of teeth, perfectly aligned. _Had she braces when she was younger?_ Marinette busied herself with removing outer garments, drenched with rainfall. The employee insisted on hanging the items up as was her duty, and eventually Marinette relented. “Thank you very much, Fleur,” she responded with warmth, reading the young woman’s name tag. The employee, Fleur, beamed back, overjoyed that she had been acknowledged directly.

Adrien would go to the ends of the earth, whether spherical or flat, ridged or eroding, to receive such a look, such an expression from her. The warmth, cordiality, recognition, and appreciation that radiated from Marinette pulled him in closer; a lost puppy seeking the extended kindness of a master to serve. He would run to her, become a fool and stumble over himself if needed, to reach her side in record time. He wondered if this was how Icarus felt before strapping the wings onto his back, slipping his arms through the rickety slots, preparing to launch into the sky. If only the sun had been closer, or the invention more durable, he could have achieved his dream.

Adrien feared he would melt under her beauty, her gaze, her touch, thawing as the wax had done, eventually drowning in her rejections, his inability to be with her, the hurdles that tripped him.

“It’s nice to see you again.”

Adrien deconstructed his musings, returning his attention to the source of sunshine in the empty hall. A maroon turtleneck hugged her frame, complimenting her skin tone, paired with navy jeans accented with a black belt and gold hoops, the suede boots from the night before scaling her legs. His heart hammered against his rib cage as images of her tangled hair, swollen lips, a stray hand wandering along his chest, flashed in his mind.

_Those damn boots._

As if seeing her were not enough, the wardrobe choice from the evening prior had sent his heart into a frenzy.

_Calm yourself and answer her. You are gawping, idiot._

“Y-yes. It is nice to see you, too.” He was taken aback by her presence in his dull, lifeless living quarters. If he could have, he would have hung her on his bedroom wall, to be admired like a painting, like the masterpiece she was.

“I promised I’d bring it!” She rushed towards him, tugging the jacket from the plastic bag she had stuffed it in. He almost jumped back in surprise at her forwardness. _Is she always like an excitable puppy?_ It was endearing.

“You didn’t have to.” Nonetheless, he took the jacket from her, smiling with as much enthusiasm as he could muster, to match her level. “I’ll hang it in my wardrobe.” He began to retreat, making his way up the cool steps. He was equally as stunned when she began to follow him up the grand staircase.

The two of them didn’t speak a word as he led her to his bedroom, bar the two questions she asked along the way: “These flowers are gorgeous! Which florist are they from?” and “Is that you when you were younger? How adorable!”

His heart fluttered. He was beginning to lose control of his breathing as he calculated the distance between them, how his hand almost brushed hers accidentally, the heat of her body as she moved in tandem with him. 

“Well… this is it,” he announced awkwardly, stopping before a darkly lacquered door. He scratched the back of his neck. _What are her intentions? Why did she follow me?_

“Your house is beautiful,” her voice overflowed with awe. This usually happened with guests. The mansion was indeed beautiful, his father was a famous designer after all, yet his tastes did not align with Adrien’s. In his eyes, his father preferred the cool, monochromatic, intimidating, not-lived-in-at- _all_ look, whereas Adrien enjoyed rustic fittings, copper and brass, brick and timber, old rugs with a traditional story splayed across them in embroidery, a cosy fire, a _home._ Even his own bedroom lacked a heart. He was embarrassed to show it to _anyone,_ never mind _her._

“You are very clean and tidy – for a boy,” she joked as she walked into his room, breezing past him as the scent of sugar followed her, twirling to absorb her new surroundings. _I’m not as clean as you think, Princess,_ he thought darkly. _I have secrets._

“Unfortunately, I cannot take all the credit. I do not tidy it myself.” He felt ashamed with this admission. He knew how privileged and entitled it sounded. He avoided her gaze, instead busying himself with locating a hanger and placing the jacket into its full-time residence. He had to ask. He was still puzzled by it. “So… how did you find the place?”

She walked over to his desk, twisting the chair and fiddling with the one cactus that perched there. He had tried to incorporate a trace of greenery. “Here?” She paused, contemplated her answer carefully before responding. “You blacked out last night. You faded in and out of consciousness, though you may not remember. You were so wasted!” A flighty laugh, almost nervous. It expanded, filled the room, popped with ecstasy. These four walls had never heard such a sweet sound. He wished he could capture it in a jar and store it away, on one of the highest shelves, out of reach for anyone else, for another day. “Through your ramblings, we figured out where you lived-“

“We?” He questioned, feeling more uncomfortable by the second. _Who else had witnessed this?_

“-yes, we! Alya and Nino were there too. I ordered a taxi, Alya and I left the party with you, and we delivered you here. That’s how I knew.”

“That’s how you knew,” he repeated. It was plausible. It made sense. “Did I…?” He let the question hang in the air, implying the worst.

“No, you didn’t vomit, don’t worry,” her giggles ricocheted off the limited materials in the room. His chest swelled with relief and humiliation. “Nice bruise, by the way. How does it feel?” Her teasing’s gave way to a hint of concern as she yearned to soothe the hue of discolouration.

“It’s fine, nothing I can’t handle!” He flexed his biceps, indicating his strength and wiggling his eyebrows to prove the pain was minimal. _At least I didn't deal further damage. That's a good sign._

She snorted, trying to suppress a laugh. “Smooth, but terrible. _Really_ terrible.”

He ached to touch her. She was here, in his bedroom, bold and lively. They could finish what they had started last night, wrestle between the bed sheets, kiss each other senseless, exchange short pants of exhilaration…

But something was eating him alive. He had to know, now that they were both sober and alert, how she felt about the kiss. “Hey, about the party-“

A vibration, low and persistent. She shifted, reached into her back pocket, produced a bedazzled phone. He grinned at the lavish details; a pink and blue gradient design, filled with liquid and heart sequins, dotted with miniature gems. His grin faded as he peeked at the caller. A glimpse of a heart, a male name. The word stung his tongue as he rolled it out, swallowing sharply. _Luka._

Marinette swiped to answer the call. “Hello?" He couldn't tell by her tone her relationship with this man. "Yes, I’ll be home soon, I was just visiting a friend.”

 _A friend?_ Adrien could understand the demotion, considering the context of the situation. They had kissed once, drunkenly, at an acquaintance’s party. _Does she even remember it?_ He had not known what to expect when meeting her again. If he were honest with himself, he had dared to hope for a date after their brief, romantic encounter. Had he misread the signs?

“Sure, I can make my own way back. I’ll see you soon.” No adorable nicknames, no ‘I love you’ to wrap the conversation, nothing to indicate more than a brotherly relationship from this mystery man. Could he dare to believe it? Or had he been kidding himself?

“I’m so sorry about this! Can we take a rain check?” Her eyes flickered with uncertainty. She seemed to be weighing an unimaginable amount behind her friendly exterior.

He was dying to know. “Sure. I’ll drive you.”

The purring Bugatti La Voiture Noire rolled up to the curb. She had led him to an apartment complex, run down and sketchy in appearance. Adrien wrinkled his nose with disgust. _Is this how she lives?_

“Well, this is me!” A façade of jollity concealing something more sorrowful underneath.

“Is this your place?” Adrien tried to ask without sounding shocked or appalled, in fear of offending her or appearing patronising. Truthfully, he was aghast. How did a princess, a beacon of light such as her, live in a decaying building such as _this?_

“It sure is.” Her eyes were trained on a mint green door as he turned to face her. Was she waiting for something, or simply too humiliated to look at him? “Thanks for the ride, I’m sorry for adding to your journey.”

He shook his head. “It’s no problem. I would have offered anyway.”

Her demure expression plucked at his heart strings. She was retracting into herself, slipping through his fingers like grains of sand. He had to bring it up a second time to dispel the uncomfortable air that surrounded them. Why hadn’t she brought attention to it? _Is she afraid I was too drunk to remember? Or does she want to forget it ever happened?_

“About last night-“ he began, his Adam’s apple bobbing painfully along his throat. He dared a glance at Marinette. Her eyes glazed over, shifting to look at an object behind him, through the blurred glass. He turned his head to view the object of her attention.

Chemically dyed tresses ducked out from beneath the door frame, vibrant in hues of teal. The stranger on the phone was no longer a mystery as the evidence stood beyond the small square of grass. Adrien measured his appearance; tall, lanky, ruggedly handsome with an air of edginess shrouding him. He emanated a cool demeanour that to many would either be interpreted as lazy or intimidating. A shadow of stubble grazed his structured jaw.

“I should go,” she whispered, as if her words would reach him across the gravel. Hastily, Marinette gathered her belongings and slammed the car door shut, uttering another sentence of thanks as the vibration shook the vehicle.

The man named Luka offered an affable smile as Marinette bounded across the garden. He leaned down to peck Marinette on the lips as she approached.

He was not her brother, then.

Adrien gripped the steering wheel with vicious intent, pale bone threatening to rip open the skin of his knuckles. _Is this why she hurried off?_ _For him?_

So, this was the line between wanting and having – an infinite divide of desire. He suddenly wished he could bash his forehead on the dashboard in frustration, yet refrained in fear he would appear aggressive.

He pieced the puzzle together in record time. Her omittance of reality floored him. He could understand a moment of weakness, a drunken mistake; he himself had a few skeletons in the closet. But it still numbed him.

Marinette, the sweet barista, who served roasted coffee with even sweeter syrups.

Marinette, the cocktail waitress, sexy and shy all at once, offering dangerous juice to entitled guests.

Marinette, the angel at the party, sharing doe-eyed looks and intimate kisses, helping his drunk ass home.

It numbed him because he had never expected this additional layer of complexity. But who was he to judge? He himself had baggage shackled to his ankle – a wealthy heiress by the name of Chloé. It wasn’t as if he had been forthcoming with this titbit of information, to confess to Marinette about his engagement. Granted, he hoped to dissolve it, yet how could he curse her for her actions?

He knew he couldn’t. It was selfish, and his assumption held her to a higher standard, a double standard, he should not have thrust upon her. It was unjust, especially when he concealed his own horns, his own scars. Regardless, it left its mark like an open gash upon his withered heart. His chest felt heavy as he watched her.

Marinette turned back, glossy hair sprinkled with droplets. How did she manage to toss her thick mane so effortlessly, as if posing for the camera? Her inner turmoil made sense to him now. Even when she had kissed him, her eyes betrayed a glint of guilt. At the time, it had confused him, wounded him. The wound had still not healed, even as the truth spat in his face. _Why did she do it? Why did she avoid telling me?_ Her remorseful expression added insult to injury. _Does she regret cheating… or kissing me?_

He could not return her awkward smile. She may as well have stood on the porch with a loaded crossbow, watching helplessly as he bled from a fatal puncture to the lung. His jaw had set, locked, cemented itself in place. His eyes grew vacant as he flicked the windshield wipers to an automatic setting. He set the car into reverse, navigating the way to a dip in the curb to relieve the tires, and sped off into the downpour.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> How are we feeling?


	7. The Photoshoot

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Enter: Lila.

“You’re late.”

He could not find it in him to care.

“Go over to hair and makeup immediately.”

His feet moved without his consent.

“Ouch. That’s a nasty bruise.”

_Is it?_

“It will take a hell of a lot to cover that.”

_Good._

“Use as much as it will take.” Was that his own voice speaking? “The more the better, my father will pay to replace it.”

_Is this what you want?_

Adrien hoisted himself up onto the leather chair. It creaked beneath his weight. He stared at his own vacant expression, the light that had dimmed behind his eyes. _Were you really that invested in her?_

He wished the answer could have been no. He wished he could erase the events of meeting her from memory, discard the images of her; eyes dipped in the juices of berries, full of stars and hope, the curve of her cheek – the texture of silk and the colour of freshly laid snow, the curl of her lashes, wispy and full of volume, the look on her face as she greeted _him_ , kissed _him_ , and threw an apologetic look in his direction.

He would trade it all to erase the dull throb pumping throughout his chest, growing heavier with each stroke of the clock.

Adrien began to knead the skin connecting the bridge of his nose and eyebrows, willing the oncoming migraine to subside. He reached into his pocket, feeling for the familiar packet of tablets. It crinkled as he removed a twin pair, dipped in pink and yellow, and downed them with a sip of bottled water. His migraines were usually quite severe, and so it was best to quash them when hint of one drew near.

“We’d better get started on this,” a young man, a few inches shy of Adrien’s height, approached from a nearby table. Adrien followed the movement in the reflection of the mirror, praying his vision would refocus. With minimal effort, he identified the makeup artist as Nathaniel, an enthusiastic prodigy in the field. Truthfully, he was difficult to miss; auburn hair that could only be described as flaming, eyes the shade of freshly brewed waves. Nathaniel gestured to his temple with a clean, fluffy brush. “You love to challenge us, don’t you?” His smirk betrayed the thrill he felt at the sight of Adrien’s antics.

“I just love to see you work miracles,” Adrien replied, a cheeky grin tugging at his lips. This, at least, was a distraction. Nathaniel was the single ray of hope on these dreary photoshoots, the one saving grace in his father’s robotic line of employees.

“I assume there is a juicy story behind this one,” he countered, secretly blushing at the model’s compliment.

“There is, but it isn’t a great one.” Adrien inspected his temple from afar, appreciating Nathaniel’s mirrored image painting quick strokes of concealer over the offensive mark. There were many dimensions to a bruise, he had discovered; a yellow base, speckled with freckles of green and purple, topped with a brownish hue, as if an afterthought – the colour of discarded leaves in Autumn. Peculiarly, it reminded him of a _Lithobates palustris_ , a pickerel frog; smooth yet textured with variant shades.

“Not in the mood to share this time?”

“I think I’ll save it for another day.”

The sound of a steel door slamming shut echoed throughout the studio, causing Nathaniel and Adrien to wince. “I need a coffee, stat. In fact, make that a vanilla latte; two pumps of syrup, with _full_ sugar, _not_ sugar free, lord knows I need it. And _almond_ milk this time. Don’t forget.” The voice was familiar; shrill, demanding, in control and vicious.

The pair watched as she sauntered across the floor in her usual fashion, clicking her fingers animatedly and typing on her phone with swift speed. Adrien wondered simultaneously at who she was directing her fury at on the other end of the line, and how she was not experiencing a cramp in each manicured thumb. He flexed his own fingers in thought.

She perched on the adjoining makeup chair, removing her sunglasses with a reluctant motion, eyeing Nathaniel with contempt.

“G-good morning, Miss Bourgeois.” Nathaniel’s tone exuded a nervous energy, one he did not use around anyone else, aside from his employer.

“Whatever,” she pouted, returning her attention to an incoming notification.

Adrien’s gaze swept over her. The bags she sported were not that of a designer, which would have been her usual choice; instead, they were dug out like shallow graves, buried beneath her lower lash line. Deep blue, the colour of an undiscovered patch of ocean, met with her slightly tanned complexion. He had never seen Chloé in such a disgruntled state before.

“Bad night?” He asked half-jokingly, extending an olive branch, nothing much, to acknowledge her exhausted gaze. He, too, felt like he had been punched in the gut, and her appearance, much like his own, left the imagination to run wild.

“I could say the same to you.” Her offhand response was supposed to be a deterrent. He had used a similar deflection many times before, he recognised it. A small ignorant part of him wished to take the comment as it was intended; leave me alone, it said. Another part, that began to itch with each passing second and overshadow the other, begged him to dig a little deeper. Chloé was not the type of person to be held down by worries. As much as he did not want to admit it, it bothered him.

“You can tell me about it, you know.” Another attempt. _Please, Chloé, play nice. I’m really trying here._

“No. I can’t.” It was not exactly a response he had not been prepared for. What he had not counted on was her tone of voice; sombre, fatigued, defeated. Could he coax it out of her? … _Should_ he?

“It may not be my place…” he began, unsure of where he intended to finish. Was this how Cézanne felt when holding a paintbrush, unsure of where the empty canvas would direct him, of exactly where the brushstrokes would guide his hand, of how the colours would move him?

Adrien leaned to the side, inching closer towards her, not in a coy play for intimacy and flirtations but as a shoulder to cry on if needed. The makeup chairs did not provide much flexibility.

“It may not,” she replied, eyeing him suspiciously, a warning lilt to her cutting words.

He continued, ignoring her icy demeanour, “But I am here for you. Whatever you need. You are my future fiancée, after all.” He threw in a playful wink for good measure. Would it soften her? Would she melt like butter beneath his genuine stare, his undivided interest? It was a rare feat for him, he would be the first to admit. However, in that exact moment, analysing her features with a worried eye, he meant every word.

“Yes, you are here because we are shackled to each other. Not by choice,” a steely glance, the glint of a grinded axe before its fatal swing. Had he imagined it? Was she implying that he did not want to be here… or that she didn’t? “Regardless, I doubt you would understand, and it’s none of your concern.”

That was that, then. She had shut the doors to friendship with a finality as harsh as a church bell marking the death of a loved one. It rang in his ears, deafeningly.

“Here is your latte, Miss Bourgeois.” A slender and timid woman approached, young and trembling. Her long, mousy-brown hair complimented her smooth complexion, her hazel eyes dancing with an eagerness to please. Adrien could guarantee that she would not last long in this industry.

Chloé sucked the liquid through the small gap in the cup, a frosted pink print of her lips transferring onto the lid. A moment of silence transpired as she judged the taste with her tongue. The three of them waited with bated breath.

“Thank you, Lily.”

Words of praise. _Surprising._

“Um, it’s Lila.”

 _Oh, she is ballsy._ Perhaps he had been wrong about her.

“We need you two in wardrobe!” An unidentifiable voice cut through the tension, inspiring a panicked shriek from Nathaniel and a look of exasperation from Lila. The two artists began to work with induced speed, painting each face with precision and haste.

Once finished, Adrien began to get dressed in a black suit that the on-set stylist had directed him towards, complete with a ruby bow tie. He laced a pair of patent derby shoes and clicked them together in mock delight, earning a coy giggle from Lila as she paused her routine of wiping down her workstation. Adrien winked at her, pressing an index finger to his lips as if to say, _shh, no one knows I can be childish. Let’s keep this a secret, shall we?_

She returned the look with her own gesture, imitating the locking of a key before throwing it away, never to be found. Her eyes glinted mischievously; _your secret is safe with me._

“We’re in cahoots now,” he joked, raking his fingers through his messy strands.

“Stop! You’ll mess up my hard work!” Lila was by his side in a second, patting his mussed locks back into place. “Hair isn’t my expertise, but you don’t have to make it worse!”

Adrien barked out a laugh, amused by her hysterical nature, watching as her hands flapped around his face in alarm. “I’m sorry,” he offered, wiping away a stray tear.

“And now your makeup?! The others were right; you _are_ a piece of work.”

“Oh, really, now?” Adrien’s laughter halted as he moulded his features carefully. She was new to the job and so far, had not seen any other side to him. This could prove to be a fun opportunity. “And who, exactly, said that?” His tone was harsh and low, almost menacing. He gripped her wrist and leaned into her personal space, watching her shrink back with intimidation. He enjoyed teasing people like this. Deep down, a part of him knew it was cruel, yet the thrill of a prank never failed to tempt him.

He was the stealthy fox; she was the stumbling rabbit. The hunt was on.

“I-I didn’t mean-“

“To what? Insult me?” Short, biting, exaggerated. A blade sharpened to kill.

“I-I’m s-so sorry-“ her arm trembled in his clasp.

“Who are you torturing now?” A voice full of mirth interrupted. Adrien held Lila’s gaze for a moment longer, _just another second_ – the muddy layers in her eyes dissolving into sprigs of green, so prominent he wondered how he had not noticed before now – and let her go, bursting into a fit of uncontrollable laughter. Lila’s expression transformed into many; frightened at the potential risk of losing her job, confused as to Nathaniel’s tone and Adrien’s laughter, and then to anger. Pure, unadulterated _anger_.

“How _dare_ you!”

Adrien’s eyes widened to the size of dinner plates, as Nathaniel continued to smirk, crossing his arms with glee. He lived for drama and could not wait to see the entertaining berating about to unfold.

“Is it fun for you to _harass_ employees?” Lila’s voice gained a higher pitch as her rant continued, capturing the attention of the surrounding crew. “Does your upbringing exclude you from treating people with _respect_? Are you an ignorant man-child with no sense of responsibility, just a reckless cause to destruct the lives of people _below you_?”

Adrien opened his mouth and then closed it, uncertain of his own defence. He had never received such an explosive reaction from a staff member, and he was not equipped to handle it with grace. “Lila, I-“

She held up a finger, cutting him off. “No, I do not want to hear it. I could go straight to the press with a story like this. _You_ should be apologising to _me_.” Her steely-eyed glance caused Adrien to step back, sweating beneath her wrath. He could feel the droplets forming on his skin, racing south of his back. _My father will kill me if this gets out. How can I convince her otherwise?_

“Lila, I am so sorry, please forgive my _stupid_ behaviour-“ he was tongue-tied, tripping over his words, desperate to stomp the fire out before it spiralled beyond control.

A small snort, barely audible over his rambling apology. Lila measured his flustered appearance, the bobbing of his Adam’s apple. Her laughter rose into the air between them, ripening, roaring. She doubled over, clutching at her sides.

Adrien stood motionless, both appalled and yet impressed, unsure if the true storm had passed. He offered a nervous smile as Lila collected herself. “Two can play at that game. Don’t underestimate me ever again.” She turned promptly on her flattened heel, flicking her chestnut tresses over her shoulder as Adrien crumpled with relief.

“I will never do that again,” he sighed, collapsing into Nathaniel’s arms as the other employees returned to normal, thankful that the commotion had dissipated.

“Come on, let’s get you up there.”

Adrien positioned himself beside the arm of a throne, anticipating Chloé’s arrival. The camera crew shuffled restlessly as they fidgeted with equipment, eager to go home. He couldn’t blame them. With a dulled headache and heartache to match, and a prank gone wrong, Adrien wasn’t far off running from the building himself.

“Let’s take a quick break,” someone suggested, which was met with much enthusiasm. Everyone scrambled towards the buffet and coffee machines, keen to consume a quick energy fix.

Adrien hunted for a nearby chair to settle into. Although he had not been standing for long, his feet were sore and dragging. To pass the time, he inserted earbuds into his phone and listened to an album from his favourite artist, Jagged Stone. His shoulders began to relax as he swayed with the music, enjoying the magnified strum of the guitar in his eardrums, turning the volume up louder. He shuffled through the playlist, allowing newly released songs to course over him, appreciating the new content.

His phone flashed magenta, signalling a new message, and temporarily pausing the music. He unlocked the screen. An unknown number had reached out to him. Adrien scrolled through the message, curious as to its content. He wondered if another crazed fan had attained his digits.

_Adrien, it’s Marinette. Nino gave me your number; I hope that is alright…_

His eyes stopped reading. He clenched his jaw, and then unclenched it, allowing the surge of irritation to pass. _Why is she playing this pointless game of cat and mouse?_ His fingers trembled over the keys, half tempted to unleash a text of hurt and anger towards her actions, and half tempted to block her number.

“Stop trying to suffocate me!” Chloé burst forth from her dressing room, yelling at an intern. She was not the nicest human being on the planet, but even Adrien had to admit that she looked stunning. Lila and Nathaniel had done an excellent job in concealing the shallow pits beneath her eyes, instead highlighting her husky blue orbs with subtle eye shadow and a winged liner for that feline effect. Her cupid’s bow had been accentuated with a red tint, a strong matte with a hint of gloss, the colour of wine. Her platinum hair had been swept into a tight bun, sleek with not a single hair out of place. He watched, as did everyone else, as she stepped onto the stage with a commanding presence, tutting as the intern fluffed up the dress she adorned. It was the same colour as her lips, cut with a straight neckline, the hint of Swarovski crystals glittering the bodice. The waist had been cinched with a black ribbon to match his suit, and the skirt had been stitched with spectacular ruffles and a mesh overlay, which mingled together to skim the floor.

She was breath-taking.

For a brief moment, Adrien could imagine being happy with her, this version of her that had walked straight from a magazine or a poster, gorgeous and glamorous and gracious. If he detracted her arbitrary personality from the equation, he could almost picture their lives together as the golden couple dominating the media, having fallen in love with quiet whispers of sweet nothings in between meetings, daring glances across dinner tables, soft caresses as they danced at charity events.

His bubble was soon pricked with a needle by none other than Chloé herself as she shrieked at the overwhelmed intern.

“Adrien, break’s over!” Adrien nodded in acknowledgement towards the crew member. He did not mind people here addressing him casually. He had worked with them many times over the years, albeit it had been a while since his last shoot.

Adrien inhaled deeply and exited the chat. Another message popped up, from the same number. She had seen that he had read it. Or… _read_ it. He had no intention of finishing the message.

“Adrien, get over here!” Chloé’s voice pierced his eardrums, high-pitched and aggravated.

He turned his phone off and slid it into his back pocket, returning to the stage. Chloé draped her arms around him lovingly, pulling him down to join her on a Chesterfield chaise covered in crushed velvet. His left hand cupped her hip as he forced an adoring smile upon his features, staring intently into the camera lens.

Pretending was what he did best, after all.


	8. Friends

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the delay! I've been feeling a bit uninspired lately, but here we are with another chapter.

The impending tension began to knot deep within his muscles. It had been a long day, longer than he had anticipated, and the unsettling atmosphere shrouding the building he called home was not any more inviting than it had been before the day began.

Adrien readjusted the collar of his shirt before exiting the Rolls Royce Phantom, which had been manoeuvred perfectly onto the stoned driveway by Pierre. The gravel crunched beneath his feet, emphasised by the extra weight from the pressures he carried. He moved slowly, almost sluggishly, towards the grand staircase leading up to the front entrance. Each step caused his bones to ache and his nerves to flutter, rippling like an anxious butterfly that flapped its wings with uncertainty regarding which direction to go next. Perhaps the wind would decide. _Please, be kind in your breeze. Direct me somewhere far, far away._

His hopes were dashed, of course. Instead, he had to face the situation, and in doing so, had to be agile and cautious. His goal was to slink through the house as quietly as possible, to avoid detection.

Adrien dipped his head low, avoiding the entrance to the kitchen, winking, and gesturing towards the security guard stationed in the hallway to remain quiet, as he rushed towards the stairs. With success, he snuck along the plush carpet of his bedroom corridor and shuffled as quickly as humanely possible towards it. He reached the door in record time, pausing for a moment to survey his surroundings to ensure he heard no following footsteps, and sighed with pained relief. He closed the door slowly, terrified of causing an echo as the lock slid into place behind him.

_I made it._

Adrien sat timidly on the edge of the bed, causing the mattress to dip beneath his weight. The bed was unmade and wrinkled from the little sleep he had the night before. His shoulders sagged as he located his phone, swiping through the innumerable notifications from his social media pages. Although Nathalie managed the accounts and posted on his behalf, Adrien was always logged in, in the event live content needed to be pushed out at a moment’s notice. His eyes grazed over the typical comments he received:

_“KimberelyRoses09 commented: OMG!!!! You’re so handsome!!!!”_

_“FanBoyAgreste liked your post”_

_“AdrienAgrestesBiggestFan commented: marry me pls”_

He ignored them. Often, Nathalie liked fan’s comments or replied for him, so he never had to pay any attention to the slew of messages. His mind did, however, creep back to one he had received earlier. His thumb moved instinctively to find it.

_There._

It glared at him in temptation. He traced over the digits, repeating the unfamiliar number that he had unwillingly memorised throughout the photoshoot as he held Chloé in his arms. _What is it about you?_

But he knew.

It was the glimmering possibilities of what could be, the excitement of meeting someone new, the undeniable beauty she possessed. It was her scent; fresh daisies, the hope of a brighter summer than the one before, the curve of her smile and the crinkle of her brow when concerned. It was her enthusiasm, the endearing lilt to her voice, the questions she had asked purely because she had felt like it, conversations directed to get to know him better, without a hidden agenda. It was her dedication to her own future, not just what she could offer to him, that intrigued him the most; the countless hours of work, juggling multiple jobs, the exhaustion that patterned her face. She was something _else._

Her determination and bubbly energy were qualities he wished he had. Even in pursuing him, or perhaps _not_ pursuing, yet in the situation becoming somehow terribly confusing for each party, showcased her gentle nature. She was determined to reach out to him, and he was throwing it all away.

Adrien clicked into the message.

_Adrien, it’s Marinette. Nino gave me your number; I hope that is alright…_

Even though he had talked himself into reading it, the opening line did not sit well with him. How could it be ‘alright’? Nothing between them had been prior, although it had been without his knowledge, so how could it be now?

_I can’t possibly justify my actions, and even if I could, it would sound like an excuse. But you deserved more than that, and I want to apologise for everything._

He knew he should not place weight to her words. The familiar phrase circled his mind; _Fool me once, shame on you. Fool me twice…_

He had been fooled once. He did not need to be fooled again. His finger hovered over the reply button, trembling with slight irritation, yet her words also caused a well of relief. His mind began to spin on overtime, reminding him not to judge so quickly, so harshly.

He read on.

_I don’t expect your understanding or forgiveness, but I want you to know that I am sorry._

_You seem like a wonderful person, and I know that Nino has warmed up to you, so we’ll be running into each other from time to time. I don’t mean to make things awkward, so you don’t have to worry about those situations. I’d like to be friends, although I assume that is out of the question._

_…Gosh, I sound like a total bitch, don’t I?_

Adrien couldn’t help it. His anger was subsiding as her personality shone through the screen, and he snorted at the question.

_This is also turning into a novel, so I’ve to apologise again for the rambling._

_I guess what I am trying to say is that yes, I sound like a complete jerk, and asking to be friends in this situation is the lowest of the low, but I’d really like to be. If you ever come in for a coffee, it’s on the house, I promise._

_Thanks for reading (if you did) this messy attempt at saying sorry. I hope you are okay._

His curiosity had been satisfied, at least as to what the message entailed. He still ached to know the reason but could not push her for more details; it is not like he had been particularly forthcoming with everything he would be laying on the table, either.

 _Friends._ He stretched the word out, let it fill in the empty crevices of his longing. The word soured his mouth, but it was not as bitter as he had anticipated. _Friends._ He could live with that... _maybe_. It was better than not seeing her at all…wasn’t it?

He hit the respond button.

_Some bitch vibes were definitely sprinkled in there, but it was an entertaining and sincere novel, so I’d give it a 3/5 on Goodreads._

_Sure, we can be friends… on a trial basis. You CAN, and WILL, be subjected to a performance review._

_I’ll see you around, Blue Eyes._

He hit send, satisfied with the message as it formed a blue bubble. A sudden knock on the door startled him.

“Your father would like to see you,” Nathalie’s voice echoed around the sparsely decorated room. Her dull eyes communicated a hint of warning. He appreciated the silent cue, although it was unnecessary. He had been walking on eggshells up to this moment, hoping the inevitable could be delayed.

Adrien trailed behind her to his father’s office. It faced the back of the house, overlooking the manicured courtyard, winding down a dark hallway. The panelling and the door leading into the room was lined with a mahogany that glistened, freshly polished, beneath the candlelight burning from a nearby sconce. When he was younger, Adrien had questioned why his father had chosen stone-coloured carpet rather than wood to match the walls. The question had been answered not too long ago – it absorbed sound. Perhaps that was a small portion of his pool of anxiety, which had begun to well on the journey home.

Nathalie opened the door and ushered him inside. He watched helplessly as her remorseful expression disappeared behind the wood, which closed with a damning thud.

His father’s silhouette was a stark contrast to the light filtering in from the window. His physique was impressive, made even more so by the luminescent quality highlighting his build. For a man his age, he kept himself well. He was trim, athletic, possessing well-toned muscles without bridging on the extreme. “You were late,” he began, adjusting his tie. Adrien had no reply. In his experience, any answer would be insufficient, regardless if it were supplied or not. “Late with unexplained injury.” Gabriel removed his glasses, setting them down on the desk behind him, which was the focal point of his office. “Tardiness is unprofessional. Facial mutilation is _unacceptable._ Your job depends on your looks.” His father pressed a hidden button beneath the leather desk chair. Adrien’s throat began to seize.

As much as Adrien hated to admit it, his father was right. Not that he cared much for his father’s reputation or business, however his career was solely based on his appearance. Dark under eyes could be covered, even pale, sickly skin. But bruising or lacerations on the face? Not so easy to hide, especially under bright spotlights and camera angles in high definition. Although, the irony dawned on him more than once, that these words were rich coming from Gabriel Agreste, of all people.

 _You don’t care too much when it isn’t my face,_ he seethed, feeling a single droplet of sweat trickle south of his temple. _Hell, you don’t even care if it is. As long as it doesn’t leave a mark._

But he said nothing. Adrien never voiced his anger, not in this room, not when it was just the two of them alone in this eerie mansion. Nathalie and the other staff members did not count – they were paid to be silent. _Handsomely_ paid. Their help would never come.

“We must discuss your birthday celebrations and impending engagement. But first…” the cane extended with a whack of sympathy or malicious intent; he could never tell. Perhaps both, perhaps it had and will always be both, and whistled through the air as a test. His father imagined himself as a golfer, perhaps the next Tiger Woods; powerful, well known, the perfect sportsman. The kind that you could envision a company endorsing, see in glossy advertisements for facial razors and the like, the height of his career.

Yes, his father liked to think of himself as a golfer. Just not the type to play on grass.

Adrien cleared his throat once, almost as a sign of admission although he was reluctant, crossing the room to meet it.


	9. The Tin Box

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> YES or NO: Marinette’s POV for the next chapter??? Or keep the story solely in Adrien's POV?
> 
> ***Warning: mention of blood/wounds, abuse, scarring***

He scavenged for the compact charcoal tin box at the bottom of his wardrobe, concealed by discarded clothes. This appeared messy, as if a glimpse into his typical, abusive behaviour with cleanliness. The truth? It was by design. Discarded clothes looked unruly, yes. If anyone opened the door, they would laugh heartily, pinning it as _typical habits for a boy._ Yet, this simple and common distraction proved invaluable in hiding this one small box. His fingertips grazed the cold exterior underneath three layers of fabric – _ah, there you are, you trusty old thing_ – and he yanked it out of the pile.

As was custom, he had locked his bedroom door, and now the door of the ensuite, as he sat huddled on the cool tiled floor. He hissed through clenched teeth as the latch of the box opened, revealing its contents: plasters, bandages, rubbing alcohol, gauze, cotton pads and buds, you name it. Spanning the course of this horrid _hobby_ his father had acquired, Adrien had taken it upon himself to keep regular stock of said items.

He twisted, in agony, to survey the damage in the full-length mirror. He had specifically requested a mirror of this length, for this particular reason. It was grim and he did not like to discuss it – _who would even listen or believe me if I did?_ – and when asked by the interior designer as to why, he had bluffed and joked in his play boyish way: “I love to look at my naked body. Don’t you?” To which the young professional had eyed him coquettishly, blushing furiously, and responded with a flattering, “Oh, if given the chance, I would.”

The old scar tissue was deep. Since his father’s first outburst, Adrien had steered clear of photoshoots or campaigns that required _too much_ skin. In fact, his father and Nathalie had made it known, under the pretence that “the young man was uncomfortable and did not want his body on display”, and so the demand for Adrien to be signed had tripled, which had surprised him. In the past, he had been known for his swimwear catalogue shoots, teasing underwear advertisements, and somewhat exploited nature when promoting cologne and fragrances. But that was in the past.

Unfortunately, his wounds were not.

Adrien had to give credit where credit was due. Since the first handful of times, his father had clocked more experience, and each lash he received in the present was expert in leaving a mark but not a scar. For that, at least, he had to be grateful.

His reflected image was unsightly. Two new gashes graced his skin, taut and bright, extending from the tip of each shoulder blade and ending before the waist of his jeans. Welts had risen in the time it had taken him to stagger back to his room, like a kicked puppy with its tail between its legs.

He sympathised, truly.

He had been forced to become accustomed to the sight of blood. In the before, Adrien would have fainted at the mere mention. In the present, he was no longer sickened to his stomach at the scene. After all, who would help him, if not… _himself?_

He dabbed at the wounds, progressing through the regular routine, sucking air through his teeth. By now, it was a monotonous task. His phone vibrated halfway through.

_Hey, handsome. I hear that’s what the ladies call you._

Adrien grinned despite the pulsating pain seeping into his torso.

_That IS what the ladies call me. Specifically, your girlfriend. Remember?_

He wrapped the first bandage around itself, adding extra layers of protection.

_I do remember. I also remember her coming home with me. Seems you’ve lost your touch._

Adrien barked out a laugh. _If only you knew_ , he responded, hinting to more than one beautiful woman that night.

_Want to come over later and tell Master Nino all about it?_

He scrunched his nose up at the self-proclaimed nickname.

_Master? What kind of role play is this?_

He could practically feel Nino’s exasperation through the prompt reply.

_You have much to learn, young Padawan. Your training begins at dusk._

_Come prepared._

Prepared, as it turned out, was with bottles of beer in hand as an offering for his newly appointed _Master._

“Adrien! How courteous of you!” Nino greeted happily, throwing his arms out in mock praise as the door swung open, crashing against the wall.

Adrien grimaced as the metallic doorknob smacked the brick from the inside. “I wouldn’t exactly use those words…” he mumbled, thrusting the six-pack into Nino’s greedy hands. “Your demands were a little tough to come by.”

“But you have your ways.”

“I have my ways,” he agreed, pulling Nino into a hug. He made sure it ended quickly, as Nino’s slaps on the back felt like a sledgehammer hacking his flesh apart. He had been careful to wear a black turtleneck, in case blood seeped through, as the dark colour would conceal it. The leather jacket he wore only aided this fact.

“Come in, come in, let’s get started.” He followed Nino into the cramped hallway, which had previously been stuffed with bodies dancing haphazardly to music. Now, however, the space was confined with unopened letters, an oak table with tarnished fittings, a navy velvet armchair overflowing with vintage records, and cardboard boxes. Adrien almost tripped over one.

“So, _you’re_ the reason why Jeff Bezos is so rich,” he chuckled, manoeuvring himself over another.

“Ha, ha, very funny,” Nino replied, kicking a box backwards in his direction. Adrien narrowly avoided it.

The hallway was connected to a homely kitchen. It was spacious and lined with cream cabinets, a vintage stove, steel pots and pans gleaming in the artificial lighting, and numerous kitchen gadgets and appliances which Adrien was clueless as to their function and intended purpose.

“This is nice and homely,” he commented, removing his jacket, and draping it over a bar stool.

“Why, thank you,” Nino bowed, as if he were behind the beautiful interior. Adrien snorted in response as his chiselled counterpart grabbed a dark green bottle and two shot glasses from a hidden cabinet. “Follow me, it would be cosier in the other room.”

They sat cross legged on the living room floor, cracking open bottles of beer on the coffee table, enclosed by a 65-inch Smart TV, surround-sound speakers, and a plush grey sofa.

Not for the first time, Adrien wished this were his family home. It was cosy, comfortable, and did not cheap out on the luxurious items, yet avoided screaming extravagance. It was perfect.

“So… you and Alya…” Adrien began awkwardly, letting the words linger in the air, hanging like a crystal web. One more droplet of rain and it would break.

Adrien had hoped to satisfy his curiousity and gain the upper hand in the conversation, to direct it. If he could do this, as he so often did, he could perhaps avoid certain topics of discussion.

The silence stretched between them.

“I know what you’re thinking,” his drinking partner began, pouring himself a shot of Jägermeister. “That we’re just fooling around, or don’t know what we want. But we love each other.”

Adrien’s brow furrowed involuntarily. “So why-“

“-aren’t we in a relationship?” Nino offered, finishing Adrien’s sentence. “I could lie and say we are too very busy people, and that’s why things are easier this way. Truthfully, though…” he downed the shot, taking a minute to savour the taste. “I want to be with her. I can’t stop thinking about her. When we’re together, there is nowhere else I would rather be, and when we are apart, I miss her like crazy.”

Adrien knew the feeling all too well. So desperately he wished that he did not.

“As for the reason why… it’s exciting right now. I know that is what Alya likes, the excitement. I’m not saying that being in a relationship kills that excitement, but I worry for her that it will. I’m worried that things won’t work out, and that it will be over.” Nino ran his thumb over the rim of the shot glass, contemplating another. Adrien could see how much the very thought pained him.

“You may have to take that chance,” Adrien offered pathetically, knowing it sounded lame. He could not provide any ground-breaking advice. What he could do, he did; he poured another shot for each of them.

His friend shook his dark mop of hair, as if dispelling the dark cloud that dwelled above it. He cleared his throat and proceeded with words to lighten the sudden shift in the atmosphere. “Speaking of taking chances… I noticed you looking at Marinette.” Nino wiggled his eyebrows as if in collusion with him.

Adrien could feel his face heating up, like a teenager under fire for a flighty crush in the schoolyard. _So much for directing the conversation…_ _What does he know?_

He graced himself a moment of pause, eyeing the shot warily in his palm, before allowing the small container of liquid to meet his lips. “I _was_ looking…” he admitted sheepishly, appreciative of the burning sensation in his throat. There was no point in denying that, at least. “She is very attractive.” _Too_ attractive, in his personal opinion. Which was the precise issue he was struggling with. _How can I be expected to forget her?_

“She is, and she is a very good friend. But unfortunately for _you_ …” Nino took a swig from his beer bottle, contemplating how best to break the news. “She has a boyfriend.”

Adrien mirrored his actions, taking a longer sip of his beer than his counterpart, wondering how best to react. “Oh. That is unfortunate.” His memory regurgitated the image of the attractive young man that appeared in the entrance of _their_ home, with the audacity to appear relaxed by Adrien's presence. His box-dyed hair had been styled messily, and for a moment, as his eyes were trained through the windshield at the couple, Adrien had seethed with jealously not only for the circumstance, but also for the stranger's abundant freedom to style and dye his hair whichever way he pleased.

It had been petty, yet true.

_If only Nino knew the whole truth. If only he had seen._

He was sure that if Nino and Alya had emerged only moments earlier than they had, before he had blacked out, they would have stumbled upon their sacred kiss. _How would Marinette have reacted?_

He could guess the answer, and he did not favour it.

“We’ll find you someone else,” Nino reassured, slapping him on the shoulder in a supportive manner, causing Adrien to hide a wince. “There’s always another party!”

Adrien smiled back half-heartedly, appreciative of the encouragement, although feeling it misplaced. He did not want someone else.

He did not want to experience another run-in with a stranger, an accidental knock into a drink, a flirtatious string of connection across a dimly lit room, or another drunken, sloppy kiss.

He wanted _her._

But fate and destiny were cruel. They enjoyed playing games and entangling people’s emotions together, before ripping them apart. He was a mere mortal that had stumbled blindly into their warpath, with no possibility of changing the rules on the board. He could only keep score, waiting patiently or impatiently, and hope.

He kept drinking.

The digital numbers swam before his eyes, metamorphosing on the screen. They danced and jiggled manically, unable to keep still. “Stop jumping,” he heard himself mumble. “I need to know the time.”

“Sorry, I don’t know that one,” his phone replied in a robotic voice.

“You do, you _do_ ,” Adrien whined. “It’s your _job_.”

“Can you repeat that?”

“Oh, what good are you!” Adrien slammed the phone on the coffee table, agitated.

“Hey! That’s vintage!” Nino complained, raising his head from the plush sofa.

“Sorry, vintage,” Adrien apologised, petting the table lovingly. “You have been so good holding our drinks all night. You deserve a treat.”

“You are more wasted than I thought,” his athletic peer chuckled, mussing the model’s blonde locks. “You can stay the night. In fact, I insist.”

“No, no, I can drive home.” Adrien flexed the muscles in his tongue, feeling as if it were stuck to the roof of his mouth with peanut-butter.

“You are _not_ driving home.” Nino reached for Adrien, hooking his arms beneath his armpits. Adrien tried to resist, like a cat clawing its loyal owner, reluctant to obey. “Come on, man. You can’t go home in this state. Just stay the night.”

“No…” Adrien moaned, recoiling from the touch. “Don’t touch my back,” he panted, sweat gathering beneath his mop of a fringe.

“Are you… alright…?” Nino knelt on the ground, to the side of Adrien, concern creasing his features. Through his obscure line of vision, Adrien could still recognise the worry etched into the caramel orbs before him.

This was what he had been afraid of. He needed to leave, before Nino attempted to go above and beyond and dress him in appropriate nightwear.

_No, no. This can’t happen._

“I’m fine,” Adrien forced a bright smile, desperate for his eyes to stop seeing double. “I’ve bad posture and worked all day, so you can imagine how sore my back is with all of those poses!” It was the best response he could give in his mangled state. “Designers are never happy, and photographers even less so.” He hoped this admission would further cement the lie.

“Those shoots must be gruelling! I couldn’t stand and twist my body for that long!” Nino smiled back, apprehension evaporating, seemingly convinced with the cover-up.

“Don’t worry, I’ll call my driver. I’ll have someone collect my car.” 

Nino guided Adrien towards the door, handing him his keys and leather jacket. “Let me know when you get home, buddy.”

Adrien nodded in compliance, pretending to ring his driver as the front door shut behind him. He knew where he wanted to go, and it was not home. He knew who he wanted to see, and he knew it should not even be a thought in his mind.

But he was Icarus, she was the sun, and he was blinded by his own drunkenness, his own emotions, and spurred on by Nino’s earlier confession. He felt the same way about Marinette as Nino felt towards Alya, so why would the universe not aid his romantic endeavours? 

He jogged across the grass, opened his car door, and sat behind the wheel, struggling to enter the new destination into the navigational system. As his tires screeched out of the paved driveway, he heard Nino’s outraged cries from the doorway, urging him to come back.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> With any chapter, if you feel I should update my tags, please let me know.


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